MY  BUNKIE 

AND  OTHER  BALLADS 


E  RWIN  C  LARKS  ON  G  ARRE  1 


MY  BUNKIE 

AND  OTHER  BALLADS 


My  Bunkie 

and  Other  Ballads 


BY 

ERWIN  CLARKSON  GARRETT 


Philadelphia  isf  London 
J.  B.  LIPPINCOTT   COMPANY 

1907 


Copyright,  1907 
By  Erwin  Clarkson  Garrett 


Published  November,  1907 


Printed  by  J.  B.  Lippincoti  Company 
The  Washington  Square  Press,  Philadelphia,  U.  S.  A. 


To  THE  Memory  op 

a  vert  dear  old  cavalryman 

My  Father 

€apu  ^Seorge  %.  ^Barrett 

THIS   BOOK  IB   affectionately   DEDICATED 


271856 


PREFACE 

The  first  part  of  this  book  is  composed  of 
army  verses  based  on  my  personal  experiences 
when  serving  as  a  private  in  Companies  "  L"  and 
"  G,"  23rd  U.  S.  Infantry  ("Regulars")  and  Troop 
"I,"  5th  U.S.  Cavalry  ("Regulars"),  during 
the  Philippine  Insurrection  of  1899-1902;  the 
four  initial  pieces  being  simply  army  "  types " 
true  of  "the  Service"  in  general;  next  a  number 
of  verses  applicable  to  the  Philippines  in  par- 
ticular, and  more  especially  to  the  Insurrection. 
In  natural  order  then  follow  the  returned  soldier's 
reminiscences  and  other  army  themes.  In  this 
way  a  rational  continuity  has  been  preserved. 

The  latter  part  of  the  volume  consists  of 
verses  on  various  subjects,  with  no  especial  regard 
to  sequence. 

I  am  indebted  to  the  following  publications 
for  permission  to  reprint  these  things  of  mine; 
many  of  which  have,  from  time  to  time,  appeared 
in  them:— "Book  News,"  "Harper's  Weekly," 
"The  Philadelphia  Inquirer,"  "The  Evening 
Bulletin"  (Philadelphia),  "The  Evening  Tele- 
graph "  (Philadelphia)  and  "  The  Pittsburg  Post." 


It  would  seem,  in  conclusion,  to  be  no  more 
than  appropriate  to  append  here  an  obituary 
notice,  the  most  concise  and  correct  one  of 
several  appearing  in  Philadelphia  newspapers  at 
the  time  of  the  death  of  my  father,  to  whom  this 
book  is  dedicated: 

George  L.  Garrett  of  Germantown,  died  on  Thursday 
in  his  seventieth  year  at  Atlantic  City.  He  was  born  in  1838, 
the  son  of  George  H.  and  Margaret  Hall  Garrett,  and  traced 
his  ancestry  back  to  the  early  history  of  Pennsylvania,  when 
in  1696  Thomas  Garrett  received  a  grant  of  land  along  the 
Brandywine  river  from  Letitia  Penn,  wife  of  William  Penn. 
In  George  L.  Garrett's  grandfather's  time  the  family  moved 
to  South  Washington  Square,  and  in  his  father's  time  to 
Germantown.  Mr.  Garrett  was  a  member  of  the  Loyal 
Legion.  He  enlisted  in  the  Civil  War  in  1861  in  Anderson's 
Troop,  later  serving  as  an  officer  in  the  Fourth  Missouri 
Cavalry.  After  serving  for  almost  three  years  he  was  cap- 
tured by  the  Confederates  and  placed  in  Libby  Prison,  where  \ 
he  remained  nine  months.  At  the  close  of  the  war  he  was 
asked  to  serve  on  the  Western  frontier  as  major,  having  been 
advanced  from  second  lieutenant  to  first  lieutenant  for 
bravery.  Upon  declining  to  enter  the  regular  service  he  was 
honorably  discharged  with  the  office  of  brevet  captain. 

Mr.  Garrett  then  took  up  his  work  as  civil  engineer  in 
the  firm  of  George  E.  Waring.  Sixteen  years  ago  he  re- 
tired from  active  life.  He  is  survived  by  his  widow,  who  was 
Sophia  C.  Gray,  and  two  sons,  Charles  Hall  and  Erwin 
Clarkson  Garrett. 

E.  C.  G. 

Philadelphia,  November  1,  1907.  < 


CONTENTS 

PAOS 

My  Bunkie IS 

The  Dog-Robber 16 

The  Old  Sergeant 19 

The  Rookie 22 

The  Cruel  American  Soldier ,  .  24 

The  Army  Growl 27 

A  Southern  Philippine  Guard 30 

Hiking 33 

The  Night  Rest 37 

Mail-Day  in  the  Philippines 39 

The  Bosoboso  Trail 43 

Philippine  Twilight 47 

The  Beno  Curse 50 

Someone's  Got  a  Mandolin 58 

The  Islands'  Hand 57 

"  Taps  " 60 

The  Regular  Cavalree 62 

General  Nelson  A.  Miles 64 

The  Ex-Soldier's  Trip  Back 66 

Major  Sour 70 

Army  Beans 73 

Bugles  Calling 76 

Heroes 79 

An  Exile 81 

The  Machine  Gun 83 


PAOB 

Regular  and  Militiaman 86 

The  Newer  School  op  Poetry 89 

War 91 

Music 93 

The  Millionaires 94 

JOGGINS 95 

The  Song  of  the  Battleship 100 

Arolas  at  Jolo 103 

Our  Ships  of  Good  Intention 107 

Christmas  Greeting 109 

The  Empire  Cities 110 

The  Heart  of  the  Rover 115 

The  Class  of  1906  to  Dr.  Smith 117 

Pennsylvania  1906  to  Harvard  '29 118 

To  A  College  Friendship 119 

The  Song  of  Asia 121 

A  Ballad  of  the  Old  East 125 

The  Calling  op  the  Winds  134 

The  Land  op  Never-Never  136 

The  Brotherhood 138 

The  Lay  of  Crecy 141 

The  Failers 147 

The  City  Moon 149 

The  Doubter 152 

The  Song  op  the  Blind 156 


Heaven  and  Hell  and  Sorrow  and  Joy  a/nd  Love 

and  War  and  Strife — 
What  a  comical  combination  goes  to  making  a 
soldier's  life. 
He's  dark  for  a  coat  of  white-wash — 
But  "  white  "  'neath  his  coat  of  tan — 
So  hold  out  your  paw, 
{And  your  heart,  what's  more). 
To  the  Regular  Army  man. 
Yes  Yes: 
And  a  three  times  three  with  a  ripping  roar 
For  the  Regular  Army  Man. 


MY  BUNKIE 

He's  mostly  gnarls  and  freckles  and  tan, 
He'd  surely  come  under  Society's  ban, 
He's  a  swearing,  fighting  cavalryman. 
But — he's  my  bunkie. 

He's  weathered  the  winds  of  the  Western  waste — 
(Oh   you,   gentle   Christian,   would  call  him  de- 
based)— 
And  he's  loved  at  his  ease  and  married  in  haste, 
Has  my  bunkie. 

In  a  Philippine  paddy  he's  slept  in  the  rain 
When   he's    drunk   rotten   beno   that   drives   you 

insane : 
And  he's  often  court-martialed — yes  over  again, 
Is  my  bunkie. 


He's  been  on  a  booze  the  whole  blooming  night 
To  mount  guard  the  next  morning  most  awfully 
tight ; 

[13] 


Though  he's  "  dressed  "  like  a  soldier  when  given 
"  Guide  right," 

Has  my  bunkie. 

He  doesn't  know  Browning  or  Ibsen  or  Keats, 
But  he  knows  mighty  well  when  the  other  man 

cheats, 
And  he  licks  him  and  makes  him  the  laugh  of  the 

"  streets  "— 

Does  my  bunkie. 

He  stands  by  and  cheers  when  Vm  having  fun, 
And  when  it  is  over  says  "  Pretty  well  done." 
Though  he  takes  a  large  hand  if  they  rush  two  to 
one. 

For — he's  my  bunkie. 

When  "  Taps  "  has  blown  and  all  the  troop  sleep, 
We  nudge  each  other  and  gingerly  creep 
To  there  where  the  shadows  hang  heavy  and  deep, 
I  and  bunkie. 

And  then  when  the  fire-flies  flittering  roam, 
We  sit  close  together  out  there  in  the  gloam 
And  talk  about  things  appertaining  to  home, 
I  and  bunkie. 

[14] 


If  the  sweet  tropic  fever  is  shrinking  my  spine, 
And  they  blow  "  Boots  and  Saddles  "  to  chase  the 

brown  swine, 
He'll  give  me  a  leg-up  and  ride  me  in  line. 
Will  my  bunkie. 

And  if  I  get  hit — his  arm  goes  around, 
And  raises  me  tenderly  off  of  the  ground. 
And  the  words  on  his  lips  are  a  comforting  sound, 
The  words  on  the  lips  of  my  bunkie. 


[15] 


THE  DOG-ROBBER 


It's  anything  but  "  Duty  "— 

It's  anything  but  work — 
It's  sit  with  a  pen  in  the  sergeant's  den 

And  see  what  you  can  shirk. 


It's  poHsh  the  first  lieutenant's  shoes 
And  be  the  captain's  "  maid." 

It's  something  else  than  walking  post, 
Or  drill  or  dress  parade. 


It's  feet  on  a  table  and  cigarettes 
When  the  men  go  out  to  groom, 

And  the  details  pass  through  the  paddy  grass 
In  the  slough  of  the  falling  gloom. 


It's  wearing  four-inch  collars 
When  the  troop  is  on  the  trail ; 

It's  strutting  by  with  a  haughty  eye 
When  rations  start  to  fail. 


It's  sitting  safe  in  a  guarded  town 
With  three  square  meals  a  day, 

When  the  rest  are  out  on  a  stinking  scout 
Some  thirty  miles  away. 


It's  digging  deep  with  a  doughty  pen 

In  a  "  casa  "  clean  and  dry, 
While  the  splash  and  thud  in  the  six-months'  mud 

Tells  where  the  troop  goes  by. 


(While  the  heavy  hush  of  the  dawning  day 

Lifts — amber,   dun   and   red. 
And  the  palms  look  down  on  the  nipa  town 

To  count  the  khaki  dead.) 


(When  the  palms  look  down  on  his  final  gasp 

And  they  turn  him  to  the  sky — 
And  the  Captured  stare  through  their  matted  hair 

To  see  how  the  strong  can  die.) 


It's  being  a  damned  civilian, 
Tiked  out  in  blue  and  tan. 

When  you  came  in  to  fight  like  sin 
And  be  a  §oldierman. 

?  [17] 


For  it's  everything  under  heaven 
A  Ranker  shouldn't  do; 

And  even  down  to  the  rookie  clown 
They  scorn  and  laugh  at  you. 


Ifs  cmything  hut  "  duty  " — 
Ifs  anything  hut  work — 

Ifs  extra  pay  and  an  easy  day. 
And  shirk — shirk — shirk. 


[18] 


THE  OLD  SERGEANT 

When  I  saw  him  he  was  sitting  looking  out  across  a 
valley — 
Fair    and    fertile — palm-bestudded — mountain- 
backed  and  green; 
But  the  strong  gray  eyes  were  weary,  just  a  very 
trifle  weary 
With  the  long,  long  years  of  service  they  had 
seen. 

And  I  kind  of  took  it  easy — spoke  about  the  pleas- 
ant weather — 
And  the  landscape  and  the  people  and  the  ways ; 
And  the  Service — I  had  seen  it? — O  well  just  a 
little — poco — 
So  that  pronto  it  was  drifting  to  the  tale  of 
other  days. 

Santiago — ^Arizona — and  Caloocan  and  the  North 
Line — 
Palm    and    sage-brush — insurrecto — Espaiiol — 
Geronimo 

[19]  \ 


And  the  valley  and  the  mountains  doing  splendid 
yeoman  service 
For  the  shifting  scenes  of  battle  as  I  watched 
them  come  and  go. 

Though  more  vivid  than  the  valley — though  more 
mighty  than  the  mountains — 
Though  more  telling  than  "  the  telling  "  far — 
to  me — 
Seemed  the  sun-seared  wind-scarred  visage  and  the 
unrelenting  shoulders 
And  mustache  and  hair  awhitening  like  the  com- 
bers out  at  sea. 

But  the  watchful  eyes  and  weary  told  the  story  yet 
more  clearly, 
Alkali  and  cactus  valley — ^transport — paddy — 
wind  and  rain — 
Riven,  roweled,   reformed  and  roaring — year  on 
year  through  wait  and  warring — 
Lifting  yet  the  faithful  burning  epochs  slowly 
back  again. 

Cease  countmg  covrij  Civilian,  for  just  a 
little  minute: 
Stop  drilling  RooJcie — 'spero — Atten- 
tion there  I  say: 

[20] 


Salute!   .    .    .   A    Nation  stands  secure 
while  men  like  he  are  m  it 
To  lead  a  charge  or  check  a  rush  or 
tide  a  turning  day. 

And  when  the  gold-laced  brigadiers  re- 
flect the  gleammg  sunlight — 
When  plumed  and  burnished  aid-de- 
camps are  clanking  gaily  by — 
Look    where    you    see    hi/m — grim    ami 
straight,  eyes  front,  wnmoved  and 
splendid — 
A    shirt — a    yellow    cord — a    king — 
against  the  morning  sky. 


[«1] 


THE  ROOKIE  * 

He  carries  his  gun  like  a  sack  of  wheat — 

He  walks  like  a  load  of  coal — 
When  they  give  'em  "  About  "  he  prances  on 

With  an  innocent  ofF-shore  roll : 
And  "  The  Top  "  is  willing  to  bet  his  pay 

That  he  hasn't  any  soul. 

When  it  comes  "  Right  dress  "  he  looks  to  the  left 

With  an  asinine  pose  and  face ; 
And  the  captain  swears  and  the  colonel  stares — 

To  the  company's  large  disgrace : 
And  the  officers'  wives  and  daughters  laugh — 

(Which  never  helps  the  case). 

He  gets  some  hell  at  muster — 

He  gets  more  hell  at  drill — 
He  gets  most  hell  on  a  bumpety  horse 

Whenever  he  takes  a  spill: 
And  he's  sure  to  get  hell  if  he  talks  in  his  sleep — 

(Oh  yes,  he  most  certainly  will). 

*  A  new  recruit. 


I  suppose  they  must  have  rookies, 
Though  it's  horribly  hard  to  see. 

But  wait  ...  If  there  were  no  rookies, 
Just  where  would  the  Army  be.'' 

And  I  guess  one  time  the  worst  in  the  bunch 
Was  asinine,  awkward  Me. 


[23J 


THE  CRUEL  AMERICAN  SOLDIER 

It's  hot  and  dry,  and  the  tropic  sky 

Is  a  sheet  of  burnished  blue ; 
And  the  paddies  bare  in  the  stifling  air 

Have  a  sickening,  saffron  hue. 

And  you  ride  along  with  never  a  song. 

With  never  a  quib  or  jest; 
Through  jungle  and  vale,  o'er  hill  and  dale. 

From  valley  to  mountain  crest. 

The  parrots  white  in  the  dazzling  light. 

Are  screeching  overhead. 
And  the  monkeys  chaff  and  seem  to  laugh, 

And  know  you're  nearly  dead. 

And  you've  the  blues  as  in  "column  of  twos" 
Through  the  heat  and  dust  you  ride. 

No  water's  nigh,  and  your  canteen's  dry. 
And  you're  bloody-well  starved  inside. 

But  the  day's  nigh  done,  and  the  setting  sun 
Sinks  down  in  the  China  Sea, 

[24] 


And   the  first   faint   breeze   through   the   highest 
trees 
Is  speaking  to  you  and  me. 

And  soon  we'll  hear  the  balm  to  the  ear, 
Of  "  Halt !  "  "  Dismount!  "  and  then  — 

But  what  is  this  to  spoil  that  bliss 
To  the^  souls  of  tired  men  ? 

A  body  lies  'neath  the  twilight  skies 

Just  ahead  beside  the  trail, 
And  hacked  and  cut  in  a  bloody  rut 

Stares  up  in  the  daylight  pale. 

'Tis  a  fellow  who  (a  bunkie  to  you) 

You  had  talked  to  in  the  morn; 
Now  there  he  lay  in  the  evening  gray 

Cut  mutilated  and  torn. 

A  month  on  the  trail  will  seldom  fail 

To  harden  the  soul  of  man. 
And  a  friend  found  dead  with  a  grass-stuffed  head. 

To  soothe  you — it  hardly  can. 

And  the  lizards  mock  in  the  growing  dark, 

And  the  pale  moon  laughs  in  scorn. 
And  the  fevered  sod  bears  the  curse  of  God, 

And  may  claim  you  ere  the  mom. 
[25] 


The  earth  seems  black  from  front  to  back, 

"  God's  Country  "  is  far  away, 
Revenge  is  sweet,  and  here  'tis  mete 

It  should  come  ere  another  day. 

(one  month  later.) 

And  of  course  that's  how  they  raised  such  a  row. 

From  'Frisco  to  Boston-town, 
And  the  papers  lied  and  the  ladies  cried 

For  our  "  poor  little  brothers  brown." 


[26] 


THE  ARMY  GROWL 

Oh  beware  of  the  cock  that  never  crows. 

Of  the  bird  without  a  song; 
Oh  beware  of  the  duck  with  n£ver  a  quack — 

There  is  something  radically  wrong. 

Oh  beware  of  the  dog  without  a  bark. 

Of  the  snake  without  a  hiss — 
And — beware  of  the  soldier  without  a  growl — 

Above  all  remember  this. 

He'll  growl  when  he  answers  reveille, 
He'll  growl  when  the  lamps  are  lit, 

He'll  growl  when  he  has  to  groom  his  horse, 
He'll  growl  when  he  "  strikes  the  grit." 

He'll  growl  'cause  the  W.  C.  T.  U. 

Have  stolen  his  booze  and  beer. 
And  he  has  to  go  to  a  native  shack 

For  "  beno's  "  poison  cheer. 

He'll  growl  when  he's  up  to  his  knees  in  mud. 
In  the  paddy's  sticky  mire; 

[27] 


He'll  growl  'bout  the  "  niggers  "  he  has  to  chase 
'Neath  the  tropic's  scorching  fire. 

He'll  growl  in  the  rainy  season  when 

He's  wet  the  live-long  day, 
He'll  growl  if  the  weather's  hot  and  dry, 

For  the  fever's  holding  sway. 

He'll  growl  when  he's  in  the  "  calaboose," 

For  getting  a  little  drunk ; 
He'll  growl  at  the  government  beans  and  slum, 

The  Java  and  spuds  and  punk. 

He'll  growl  at  "  the  top  "  whom  he  doesn't  love 

(And  the  captain  on  the  side). 
He'll  growl  about  inspections 

And  the  length  of  the  water  ride. 

But — ^he'U  live  on  "  emergency  ration," 
Where  the  average  man  would  die, 

Or  hike  all  day  in  a  tropic  sun 
Though  his  throat  is  hot  and  dry. 

Or  walk  his  post  through  the  long  wet  night 
'Neath  the  gloom  of  the  dripping  palm, 

While  the  fever's  burning  his  very  soul, 
Though  his  face  is  set  and  calm. 

[28] 


Yes — he'll  charge  'neath  a  hotter  fire  than 
E'er  welcomed  the  Light  Brigade, 

And  hold  a  trench  with  the  easy  grace 
Of  militia  on  parade. 

Or  'tend  to  a  wounded  comrade  who 
Has  dropped  with  a  shattered  knee — 

(And  at  roll  it's  ^^Here"  to  Bunkie's  name 
If  Bunkie  is  on  a  spree). 

So  give  'im  his  growl  (but  don't  i/ou  howl). 

And  let  him  whene'er  he  can, 
For  he  sure  has  enough  to  make  him  gruff — 

The  Regular  Army  Man. 

Oh  beware  of  the  cock  that  never  crows. 

Of  the  bird  without  a  song; 
Oh  beware  of  the  duck  with  never  a  quack. 

There  is  something  radically  wrong. 

Oh  beware  of  the  dog  without  a  bark, 

Of  the  snake  without  a  hiss. 
And — beware  of  the  soldier  without  a  growl — 

Above  all  remember  this. 


[89] 


A  SOUTHERN  PHILIPPINE  GUARD 

Did  you  ever  pike  a  post, 
When  the  morn  was  come  almost, 
And  that  lonely  light  to  eastward  tells  the  dawning 
of  the  day? 
All  the  rest  the  world's  asleep, 
And  the  shadows  seem  most  deep. 
And  the  Moros  of  the  southern  isles  turn  Mecca- 
ward  to  pray. 

Southward   toward   Celebes, 
O'er  the  glassy  tropic  seas. 
You  can  almost  smell  the  spices  and  the  jungle 
odors  rare ; 
And  from  eastern  Mindanao 
Down  to  little  green  Bongao 
Stately  palms  are  gently  swaying  in  the  flower- 
scented  air. 

And  you're  treading  back  and  forth. 
Glancing  west  and  south  and  north, 
And  the  faint  lights  to  the  eastward  mark  the 
mountains'  deeper  gloom: 

[30] 


While  upon  the  coral  beach, 
Twixt  the  parrots'  rising  screech, 
You   can   hear  the  steady   cadence   of  the   South 
Sea's  surly  boom. 

Where  the  outer  shadows  meet. 
You  may  hear  the  tom-tom's  beat 
From  a  shack  upon  the  hillside,  or  the  beach  a 
mile  away; 
In  the  West  still  reigns   the  night. 
In  the  East  a  pearly  light 
Is  proclaiming  the  approaching  of  another  tropic 
day. 

And  a  hush  is  on  your  soul. 
And  the  warm  sea's  silent  roll 
Bears  you  eastward,  eastward,  eastward,  'cross  the 
leagues  of  swelling  foam ; 
For  you  seem  to  slowly  rise, 
And  transported  through  the  skies. 
You   are   borne   to   "  God's   Country  " — ^you   are 
borne  back  to  home. 

Back  ten  thousand  miles  to  where 
Lies  a  green  land  over  there. 
And  the  faces  and  the  houses  nod  and  beckon  left 
and  right — 

[31] 


But  a  palm-limb's  falling  thud 
Checks  your  dream-enchanted  blood — 
And   the   parrots   screech   more   loudly,   and   the 
world  is  growing  light. 


[32] 


HIKING 

Oh,  it's  hiking,  hiking,  hiking — ^hiking  the  live- 
long day ; 
And  it's  pouring,  pouring,  pouring  from  the 
heavens  leaden  gray; 
And  it's  eighty  miles   from  quarters,   and  eight 
thousand  miles  from  home ; 
And  you're   hungry,  wet  and  tired,  and  you 
roam,  roam,  roam. 


Two  good   feet  deep  the  waters  lie 

In  the  paddies  soggy  bare, 
And  two  miles  high  the  floods  come  down 

Through  the  stifling  tropic  air. 


And  two  by  two  in  dun  and  blue, 
With  shoulders  hunched  and  wet. 

The  half -starved  troopers  sodden  ride, 
On  mounts  more  sodden  yet. 

0  [88] 


It's  splash  and  thud  and  splash  and  thud, 

All  down  along  the  line, 
(Cold  water's  ooze  in  army  shoes 

Is  something  very  fine). 


No  pipe  will  stand  a  pour  like  this, 
No  bird  dares  sing  a  song, 

No  cheerful  sound  can  emanate 
From  that  line  thin  and  long. 


The  damp  winds  sneak  with  sickly  shriek 
Through  clumps  of  bare  bamboo. 

And  the  fire-tree  ('twixt  thou  and  me) 
Is  really  rather  blue. 


"  Emergency  ration  "  four  days  out 

Does  fall  a  trifle  flat, 
And  the  troop  all  swear  it's  chicken-food, 

That's  made  by  Mr.  Pratt. 


No  booze  in  sight,  no  bunk  in  sight. 
No  chew,  no  smoke,  no  sleep. 

And  a  bunch  of  "  niggers  "  off*  a  way, 
There  in  the  jungle  deep. 

[34] 


They're  slippery  eels  o'  summer; 

They  hate  a  krag  or  "  gun," 
They  stab  behind  (if  they've  the  odds), 

And  then  they  up  and  run. 

"  Amigo  "  to  your  face,  forsooth. 
Or  when  you  spend  the  dough, 

But  a  red-hand  "  katipunan  "  when 
You  turn  around  to  go. 


A  score  of  miles  since  early  morn, 

The  same  ere  close  of  night, 
A  comrade's  life  to  be  avenged, 

A  hate  both  just  and  right. 

A  grumble  and  a  look  ahead, 
A  "  column  right  "  or  "  left," 

A  low  bough  hanging  o'er  the  trail, 
A  ducking  quick  and  deft. 

The  horse  behind  is  splashing  mud 
Right  down  your  blooming  neck. 

And  a  prickly  branch  has  whipped  your  side 
And  left  your  shirt  a  wreck. 

[35] 


Ye  gods !  in  truth,  'tis  warfare  this ; 

No  charge  across  a  plain — 
Excitement  of  the  moment  'midst 

The  shouts  of  martial  strain. 

But  hunt,  hunt,  hunt,  and  plod,  plod,  plod. 

O'er  the  trail  without  an  end, 
After   the    "  insurrectos  " — 

For  that's  the  word  they  send 

From  "  The  Palace  "  in  Manila ; 

They've  clicked  it  o'er  the  wire. 
And  we  hit  the  trail  and  never  fail 

To  do  as  they  desire. 


Oh,  it's  hiking,  hiking,  hiking — ^hiking  the  live- 
long day ; 
And  it's  pouring,  pouring,  pouring  from  the 
heavens  leaden  gray; 
And  it's  eighty  miles   from  quarters,  and  eight 
thousand  miles  from  home; 
And  you're  hungry,   wet   and  tired,   and  you 
roam,  roam,  roam. 


m 


THE  NIGHT  REST 

When  the  first  stars  light  and  the  gloom  of  night 

Falls  over  the  paddies  bare, 
When  the  lizards  mock  and  the  mongrels  bark, 

And  cooler  grows  the  air — 


When  the  tropic  heat  has  ceased  to  beat 

With  vengeance  fierce  as  fire; 
And  the  swaying  palm  in  the  growing  calm 

Has  lulled  your  tepid  ire. 


When  you  hear  the  munch  and  the  steady  crunch 

Of  the  horses  grazing  near ; 
And  the  rhythmic  tread  like  mufiled  lead 

Of  the  sentry's  pacing  drear — 

When  you  hit  the  trail  till  the  last  lights  fail ; 

And  you  know  you've  earned  a  rest ; 
When  the  chill  night  air  o'er  paddies  bare 

Make  blankets  doubly  blest — 

[87] 


And  the  evening  breeze — with  head  at  ease 

In  a  saddle's  sunken  seat — 
And  you  watch  afar  and  greet  each  star 

As  a  friend — old,  loved,  discreet — 

When  each  bright  light  in  the  vaulted  night 

Looks  down  on  your  fevered  face: 
When  you  forget  the  day's  regret, 

And  your  hate  for  the  island  race — 

When  the  monkey's  speech  and  the  parrot's  screech 

Is  hushed  till  another  day ; 
When  the  East  is  black  where  the  bamboos  crack, 

And  the  West  has  a  streak  of  gray.  .  .  . 


Oh  the  soothing  balm  of  the  quiet  calm 
Of  the  glorious  star-strewn  shore; 

And  a  little  space,  by  Night's  good  grace. 
From  the  scenes  of  a  tropic  war. 


[38] 


MAIL-DAY  IN  THE  PHILIPPINES 

Clatter,  clatter,  nearer,  nearer, 
Comes  the  sound  of  horses'  feet 

From  Manila-way  ashastening, 
Down  the  dusty  village  street. 

Why  from  quarters,  shacks  and  stables, 
Why  from  near  and  far  away. 

Stream  the  soldiers  shouting  welcome 
To  the  rider,  dusty  gray? 

E'en  the  cook  lets  drop  the  ladle, 

Handle  first  into  the  slum ; 
E'en  the  sick  raise  on  their  elbows 

When  those  clattering  hoof -beats  come. 

E'en  the  commissary  sergeant. 
Quick  forgetting  troubles  all. 

Drops  "  invoices  "  and  "  returns,"  and 
Comes  arunning  at  the  call. 

[39] 


While  across  the  way  the  captain, 
From  his  quarters  looking  o'er. 

Seems  impatiently  awaiting, 
Pray  what  is  he  looking  for? 


Stoops  the  rider  from  his  saddle, 
Throwing  down  a  canvas  bag. 

Stained  and  dirty,  striped  and  lettered, 
"  U.  S.  Mail  "  (the  blessed  rag). 


Then  the  troop-clerk,  ostentatious, 

Opens  up  the  bag  and  then. 
Crowding  round  him  breathless,   noiseless. 

Surge  a  silent  sea  of  men. 


Standing  shoulder  rubbing  shoulder, 
Upturned  faces  anxious  drawn. 

Listening  for  their  names  and  watching 
'TiU  the  last  white  missive's  gone. 


Next  a  scatt'ring  back  to  quarters, 
Where  the  bunks  are  promptly  "  hit,' 

Then  an  opening  of  the  letters. 
Which  a  month  ago  were  writ. 

[40] 


"Broncho"  Bill  with  index-finger 
Runs  along  each  precious  line, 

And  a  smile  is  softly  growing 

O'er  those  features  rough  as  pine. 


And  "  the  Kid  "  has  got  a  photo 
That  he's  eyeing  awful  well, 

'Tis  a  picture  of — oh  really. 
It  is  hardly  fair  to  tell. 


Private  Brown — 'tween  slow-turned  pages- 
Stares  beyond  the  paddied  line: 

But  the  blood-pride  of  the  ages 
Chokes  the  rising  outer  sign. 


Sergeant  Smith,  an  old  campaigner. 
Shows  with  pride  a  golden  curl 

To  his  bunkie,  speaking  husky, 
"  From  my  precious  little  girl." 


Thompson  has  a  box  of  candy. 

And  his  popularity 
(Which  was  never  much  to  brag  of) 

Has  developed  wonderfully. 

[41] 


"  Bowery  Pete  "  quite  freely  tells  you 
He's  a  letter  from  his  "  goil ;  " 

And  he'd  like  to  put  you  next  that 
She  is  sure  a  little  "  poil." 


Little  Johnson's  reading  closely, 

Little  Johnson's  eyes  are  wet, 
Now  he's  staring  out  the  window, 

And  his  look  is  sort  of  set.  ^  ^ 


Some   are  laughing,   some  are   eating. 
Some  are  reading,  some  are  glad. 

Some  are  talking,  some  are  singing. 
Some — well,  some  look  kind  of  bad. 


[42] 


THE  BOSOBOSO  TRAIL 

Ask  the  men  of  "  I "  troop, 

Ask  the  men  of  "  L," 
How  they  struck  the  rugged  trail 

When  the  twilight  fell. 

White  and  clear  the  stars  shone 

In  the  coming  night; 
Westward  o'er  Manila 

Lingered  yet  the  light. 

News  of  trouble  spreading 
'Cross  the  mountains  fast, 

Treacherous  Bosoboso 
Is  the  culprit  last. 

Stable,  horse  and  saddle, 
Spur  and  carbine  stout; 

Antipolo  watching 

As  the  troops  ride  out. 

[43] 


Black  the  night  falls  faster. 
Black  the  mountains  rise, 

And  the  forest  shutting 
Out  the  star-flecked  skies. 


Know  ye  tropic  jungles, 
When  the  sun  is  set, 

And  the  gloom  lies  heavy. 
Stifling,  black  and  wet? 


In  the  light  of  noon-day 
Troopers  curse  and  rail 

At  the  bough-hung,  winding 
Bosoboso  trail. 


In  the  jungle  nightfall 
Naught  the  eye  may  see. 

Shelving  rock  and  gulley. 
Root  and  bough  of  tree. 


This  the  men  of  "  I "  troop, 
And  the  men  of  "  L," 

Of  the  good  Fifth  Cavalry 
Struck  as  evening  fell. 

[44] 


And  dismounting  each  one 
Slowly  leads  a  horse, 

Grasping  tail  of  beast  ahead- 
Plunging  o'er  the  course — 


Chargers  tramping  on  you 
When  the  column  stops ; 

Straining  weary  sockets 
When  it  forward  rocks. 


If  you  lose  your  leader — 
If  your  footing  fail — 

Lost  the  column  plunges 
From  the  inky  trail. 


In  a  gloom  where  owls  might 

Hardly  hope  to  see ; 
Stumbling,  crashing  over 

Rock  and  fallen  tree. 


'Midst  the  fevered  blackness 
Of  the  jungle's  heart; 

From  all  human  feelings 
Tom  far  apart. 

[45] 


Plunging  mad  and  weary, 
Bruised  and  full  of  hate; 

Knowing,  caring  little 

Where  the  "  umbres  "  wait. 


Cursing  "  insurrectos," 

And  the  lights  that  fail;  -^ 

Cursing  low  and  stoutly 

Bosoboso's  trail. 


[46] 


PHILIPPINE  TWILIGHT 

Slowly  the  sun  is  sinking, 

Slowly  the  lights  grow  dim; 

Slowly  down  in  the  tropic  sea 
Droppeth  the  burning  rim. 


Slowly  the  farther  islands 
Melt  in  the  mellow  maze ; 

Slowly  out  on  the  whitened  walls 
The  lizards  creep  to  gaze. 


Slowly  the  snowy  parrots 
Sweep  to  their  jungle  rest. 

Slowly  the  gold  and  crimson 
Fade  in  the  darkening  west. 


Slowly  the  tasseled  palm-leaves 
Sway  in  the  evening  breeze. 

Slowly  the  old  familiar  stars 
Rise  o'er  the  tallest  trees. 


Slowly  the  hike  and  skirmish, 
Fever  and  burning  days, 

Treachery,  hate  and  malice, 
Melt  in  the  evening  haze. 


Slowly  the  Visions  wander 
Over  the  alien  sea — 

Faces  and  towns  and  rivers; 
Known  to  you  and  me. 


Slowly  they  nestle  with  us. 
There  in  the  tropic  night ; 

Strengthening,  soothing,  helping. 
Seeing  our  three-fold  fight. 


Slowly  the  flaming  fire-tree 
Turns  to  a  sombre  pine. 

Slowly  the  purple  clusters 
Grow  on  the  barren  vine. 


Slowly  the  distant  parrots — 
Specks  in  the  darkening  sky — 

Melt  into  homing  swallows. 
Over  the  jungle  high. 

[48] 


Slowly  the  rice-grown  paddies, 
Wave  with  the  western  wheat. 

Slowly  the  scent  of  violets 
Sweetens  the  humid  heat. 


Slowly  the  clouds  rose-tinted 
Change  to  the   faces   we 

Left  in  a  white  man's  country. 
Over  the  ashen  sea. 


Slowly  the  lingering  lilac 
Fades  in  the  western  sky: 

Heavy  the  stifling  gloom  falls- 
Night — and  the  Visions  die. 


[49] 


THE  BENO  CURSE 


Four  we  held  the  lurching  litter : 
Five  they  held  him  in  his  place: 

Dark  and  crimson,  wild  and  fighting, 
Bloody  eyes  and  bloated  face. 


"  'Nother  case,"  the  surgeon  muttered. 

When  they  lifted  him  abed. 
Just  the  "  Barbary  Coast "  of  'Frisco — 

Just  a  taste  of  "  Dago  Red." 


Up  the  transport's  ladder  struggling. 
Four  to  one  they  slip  and  slide. 

Two  steps  up,  and  one  returning. 
Bumping  'gainst  the  vessel's  side : 


Filled  with  Nagasaki  "  saki  " — 
Swearing,   cursing,   sweating   cold- 

[50] 


Knotted  muscles,  purple,  straining, 
Roped  and  thrown  down  the  hold. 


We  have  seen  the  curse  of  nations, 

'Bove  and  'neath  the  sweltering  Line^ — 

Lilac,  crimson,  white  and  amber, 
Dark  and  murky,  crystal  fine. 


Juices  of  the  bulb  and  berry. 

Where  the  jungle  flower  grows: 

Blood  of  palms,  slow-tapped  and  silent. 
Where  the  phosphor  ocean  glows. 


Juices  of  the  grain  and  vineyard. 
Sweet  and  bitter,  dark  and  light ; 

Where  the  Dipper  arches  northward, 
Pale  and  shining,  fair  and  white. 


But  in  Beno's  grip  imprisoned — 
Water-colored,  harmless,  clear — 

We  have  seen  the  strong  men  sinking. 
Month  by  month  and  year  by  year. 

[51] 


We  have  seen  the  bronzed  campaigner, 
We  have  seen  the  beardless  cheek, 

Earn  the  eyes  that  lack  the  lustre. 
Lose  the  lips  that  mark  the  weak. 

We  have  seen  the  hands  of  giants 
Tremble  like  a  child  with  chills. 

Till,  befuddled,  wan  and  wandering. 
Crazed,  they  sought  the  silent  hills. 


(Yes,  we  know  them  east  and  westward. 
Amber,  crimson,  white  and  clear: 

Yes,  we've  seen  the  fiends  incarnate 
Lift  the  burning  levels  near)  : 

But,  we've  watched  the  silent  sinking, 
Day  by  day  the  seasons  through; 

We  have  seen  the  slow  damnation: 
(Beno,  here's  a  health  to  you!) 


[52] 


SOMEONE'S  GOT  A  MANDOLIN 

(PHILIPPINE     TRANSPORT     BALLAD ) 

Someone's  got  a  mandolin — over  hy  the  rail: 

Jolly  little  tinkler  talks  most  surprisi/ng  plain: 
"  You've  done  your  work — in  fact — done  it  rather 
well; 
And  now  you're  really  honest  truly  going  home 
again." 

Dusk  is  slowly  settling  and  we're  loafing  on  the 
deck, 
Looking  most  contented  out  across  the  leaden 
sea. 
Duty  done  and  getting  dark — (rather  dark  for 
cards) — 
And  just  a  line  of  lazy  smoke  aroUing  by  the  lee. 

Someone's  got  a  mandolin — over  by  the  rail : 

(Funny  how  a  mandolin  can  search  a  soldier's 
soul) : 

[63] 


Kind  of  up  and  talks  to  you  when  day  begins  to 
fail, 
And    you're    heading    homeward    on    the    long 
Pacific  roll. 

Someone's  got  a  mandolin — over  by  the  rail : 

Tinkling  of  the  days  behind — the  skirmish  in 
the  rain — 
Soggy  paddies  full  of  rice  and  nipa  shacks  and 
palms — 
"  Humbres  "  given  to  the  ants  and  "  humbres  " 
you've  slain. 

Someone's  got  a  mandolin — over  by  the  rail : 

Seems  to  sort  of  sing  along  with  flying-fish  and 
foam: 
Kind  of  makes  you  blink  a  bit — (it's  cinders  from 
the  stack) — 
And  jingles  mighty  plainly  of  the  people  over 
home. 

Someone's  got  a  mandolin — over  by  the  rail : 
Jolly  little  mandolin — crazy  little  soul: 
Says  the  salt  air's  eating  out  the  fever  in  our 
bones — 
Mustn't  mind  at  lacking  thirty  pounds  o'  being 
whole. 

[54] 


Someone's  got  a  mandolin — over  by  the  rail : 

Singing  we're  heading  east  to  where  God's  Coun- 
try lies: 

Laughing  we'll  fatten-up  on  tenderloin  and  milk, 
Canvasback  and  terrapin,  batter-cakes  and  pies. 

Someone's  got  a  mandolin — over  by  the  rail : 

Plaintive  little  mandoHn — sort  o'  soft  and  low — 

Says  in  just  a  little  while  we'll  see  'em  all  again — 
Mustn't   fret  because  the  transport's   running 
rather  slow. 

("  Mustn't   fret,   no   mustn't   fret," — ^the  flying- 
fish  reply, 
"  Though  you  left  him  buried  there  behind  the 
bare  bamboo  " : 
"  Mustn't  fret,  no  mustn't  fret  " — the  little  white- 
caps  cry, 
"  But  gulp  it  down  and  think  about  the  ones 
awaiting  you"). 

Someone's  got  a  mandolin^ — over  by  the  rail : 

Laughing  up  the  leaden  lift  and  sighing  down 
the  roll — 
Other  days  and  other  ways — ahead,  astern,  adrift — 
Is  it  wood  and  strings  or  has  the  chubby  thing  a 
soul? 

[55] 


Someone^s  got  a  mandolm — over  hy  the  rail: 
Jolly  little  tinkler  talks  most  surprising  plavn: — 

"  You've  done  your  work — i/n  fact — done  it  rather 
well; 
And  now  you're  really  honest  truly  going  home 


[56] 


THE  ISLANDS'  HAND 

Five  thousand  miles  they've  left  them 
O'er  phosphor-streaking  ocean; 
Five   thousand   miles   of   rollers, 

And  flying-fish  and  whale; 
And  gulls  around  the  topmast 
And  sharks  around  the  rudder — 
And  sixteen  days  of  steaming 

With  never  sight  of  sail. 

Two  years — or  five — or  twenty 
This  side  the  sunset  ocean ; 
Two  years — or  five — or  twenty 

They've  left  the  Islands'  care. 
Men  call  them  hale  and  hearty — 
And  laugh  about  the  Islands; 
(Men  laugh  about  the  Islands 

Who've  never  soldier'd  there.) 

Men  call  them  "  health's  reflection," 
And  joke  of  their  "  excursion," 
For  they're  strong  and  hardy 
And  lift  the  hours  through. 

[57] 


Though  of  those  who've  trailed  the  Islands 
With  the  fever  eating  inward, 
They're  little  asking  sympathy 
Of  little  thinking  you. 

But  the  Islands'  hand  is  on  them, 
(Be  the  cycles  two  or  twenty — 
And  the  span  of  buffer  ocean 

Five  thousand  miles  between)  ; 
When  the  days  are  running  lightest — 
And  life  is  worth  the  living, 
The  Islands'  hand  descendeth — 

Dull-throbbing — sharp  and  keen. 

Unpensioned — undesiring — 
They're  smiling  in   your  faces; 
They're  jesting,  dancing,  laughing — 

With  the  old  ache  burning  there. 
It  will  lift — mayhap — to-morrow — 
To  return  when  unexpected ; 
To  return  when  least  desired. 

Just  to  smite  you  unaware. 

Five  thousand  miles  of  ocfean, 
And  the  buffer  years  aroUing, 
And  the  silent  seasons  waking 
In  the  Land  of  Little  Care: 

[58] 


Men  call  them  hale  and  hearty — 
And  laugh  about  the  Islands: 
(Men  laugh  about  the  Islands 
Who've  never  soldier'd  there.) 


[59] 


«  TAPS '' 

We've  heard  it  in  the  mountains, 

We've  heard  it  in  the  vale, 
We've  heard  it  in  the  times  of  peace. 

And  when  the  war-dogs  trail. 
We've  heard  it  in  the  jungle. 

We've  heard  it  on  the  snows. 
We've  heard  it — yes — 'most  everywhere. 

And  we  love  it — God  knows. 

We've  heard  it,  and  it  stood  for 

A  little  rest  and  sleep. 
When  the  twinkling  sentries  overhead 

Their  "  post  "  and  "  orders  "  keep. 
When  the  great  war-god  Orion 

Looked  down  from  out  the  night. 
And  bade  us  think  of  those  at  home 

Beneath  another  light. 

We've  heard  it  when  we  bivouacked 

Behind  the  day's  alarm : 
We've  heard  it  when  we  buried  him 

Beneath  the  tropic  palm : 
[601 


We've  heard  it  on  the  transport, 
We've  heard  it  on  the  plain, 

We've  heard  it  in  the  islands 
'Midst  the  fever  and  the  rain. 

We've  heard  it — and  the  ringing 

Down  through  the  countless  years, 
Will  take  us  back  to  war  and  strife, 

To  love  and  joy  and  tears. 
And  when  the  Last  Great  Muster 

Shall  find  us  on  the  roll, 
We  hope  they're  blowing  Taps  again — 

To  speed  a  soldier's  soul. 


[61] 


n. 


THE  REGULAR  CAVALREE 

Eyes  and  ears  of  the  army, 
Galloping  wild  and  free, 
Feelers  and  nerves  of  the  central  head, 
Muddy  and  swearing  and  spattered  red 
With  blood  of  the  wounded  and  dying  and  dead, 
The  Regular  Cavalree,  Hurrah! 
The  Regular  Cavalree! 

Flanking  the  battery's  belching  blaze, 

Crash!  and  the  gunners  flee: 
Then — off — and  away  we  go — 
Down  on  the  infantry's  flanks  we  blow — 
Pistol  and  sabre  laying  them  low — 
The  Regular  Cavalree,  Hurrah! 
The  Regular  Cavalree ! 

Watch  the  troop-train  passing  by. 

Up  from  the  port  of  the  sea; 
Down  like  the  eagle  in  swiftest  flight — 
Sweeping  the  plain  in  our  gallant  might, 

[62] 


And  the  enemy  curse  for  their  fast  to-night — 
The  Regular   Cavalree,   Hurrah! 
The  Regular  Cavalree! 

Dripping  palm  and  tropic  sun, 

(Remembered  by  you  and  me), 
Riding  the  trails  we  learned  to  hate — 
"  Emergency  Rations  "  ten  days  straight — 
And  the  fever  that  cometh  soon  or  late — 
To  the  Regular  Cavalree,  Hurrah! 
The  Regular  Cavalree! 

Pennsylvania  Avenue, 

The  Great  Man's  escort  we; 
Polished  and  clanking  and  looking  our  best, 
Cursing  the  work  for  a  beastly  pest; 
The  pride  of  the  Nation  are  riding  abreast — 
The   Regular   Cavalree,   Hurrah! 
The  Regular  Cavalree ! 


[63] 


5^ 


GENERAL  NELSON  A.  MILES  * 

Mighty  scribes  of  inky  prowess,  mighty  generals  of 
the  pen, 

From  your  fortress  desks  ye've  hurtled,  'gainst  a 
splendid  man  of  men. 

All  your  quibs  and  shafts  of  laughter,  all  your 
venom  small  and  mean, 

To  amuse  a  certain  public,  slandering,  but  yet  un- 
seen. 


When  ye  fed  upon  a  bottle,  when  ye  walked  the 

city  street. 
When    ye   lived    in    ease    and   comfort,    speeding 

pleasure's  hours  fleet. 
When  ye  led  the  light  cotillion,  when  ye  ate  three 

"  squares  "  a  day, 
When  at  ball,  in  gold  and  medals,  ye  were  flirting 

hours   away, 

♦On  his  retirement. 

[64] 


He  was  fighting  where  the  slaughter  of  a  brothers' 

war  ran  high, 
On  those  crimson  fields  of  horror,  'neath  a  sunny 

southern  sky. 
He  was   chasing  the  Apache   'cross  the  choking 

khaki  plain. 
In  the  land  of  rock  and  sage-brush,  alkali  and  little 

rain. 


He — as  the  commanding  general — in  his  later  hon- 
ored days. 

Held  the  rank,  but  hampered  ever — snub  and 
censure — seldom  praise. 

Misdemeanor  or  dishonor  at  his  door  was  never 
lain. 

But  ye  dig  your  quills  the  deeper,  shrieking, 
"Vain!    Ambitious!    Vain!" 


Ask  the  brown  and  hardened  trooper  dating  back 
to  Wounded  Knee, 

Ask  the  old  who  fought  in  '60,  ask  the  young  across 
the  sea. 

They  will  answer,  for  they  know  him — ^tempered — 
tested — tried  and  true — 

Honor  to  his  flag  and  country  and  the  blood- 
bathed  army  blue. 

5  [65] 


THE  EX-SOLDIER'S  TRIP  BACK 


Five  thousand  miles  from  the  latest  styles, 
And  the  grind  and  the  thumping  roar, 

j,/And  the  lucre  race  and  the  thin-souled  face, 
And  the  lust  of  more  and  more. 


Five  thousand  miles,  where  the  shack-topped  piles 

Stand  out  in  the  open  bay: 
And  the  fish  traps  reach  from  the  coral  beach 

To  the  up-coast  current's  sway. 


We'll  go  again  to  the  sun  and  rain — 
To  the  flood  and  the  river  drouth — 

To  the  broken  seas  and  the  scented  breeze — 
And  the  Cross  in  the  vaulted  south. 


In  the  darkened  gloom  of  the  jungle  tomb. 
Where  the  fern-crotched  giants  spread — 

And  the  trailing  vine  and  the  branches  twine 
We'll  waken  the  echoes  dead. 

[66] 


We'll  answer  the  screech  of  the  parrot's  speech- 
And  the  ape  in  the  highest  limb; 

As  he  swings  in  the  air  we  scarcely  care 
To  scorn  or  pity  him. 

We'll  lie  in  the  sift  of  the  sandy  drift 
Where  the  beach  is  white  and  wide; 

Stark  naked  there  in  the  soothing  air 
By  the  wash  of  the  pearl-flecked  tide. 

We'll  laugh  in  ease  as  the  tasseled  trees 
Throw  shadows  across  the  sand — 

We'll  shout  in  glee  to  the  dancing  sea, 
And  the  hours  out-of-hand. 


We'll  ride  the  trails  when  the  sunset  fails 
'Twixt  the  isles  of  the  farther  west; 

And    the    clumped    bamboo    that    the    winds    sift 
through 
As  they  lag  from  the  highest  crest. 

We'll  scent  the  must  of  the  paddies'  dust — 

(Remembering  labors  old) — 
We'll  feel  the  heat  of  the  village  street 

When  the  skies  are  copper-gold. 
[67] 


^^  When  the  day  is  done  we'll  watch  the  sun 

Sink  down  in  a  gilded  sea; 
And  the  saffron  sky  fade  out  and  die 
And  the  crimson  embers  flee. 


While  the  lizards  mock  in  the  sultry  dark 

From  under  the  nipa  eaves, 
We'll  laugh  again  with  the  homeless  men, 

Ere  the  north-bound  mail-boat  leaves. 

/ 

When  the  lights  are  low  and  the  phosphor  glow 

Is  washing  the  outer  piers — 
We'll  gaze  afar  o'er  the  wave-kissed  bar. 

And  dream  of  the  distant  years. 


The  former  days  and  the  former  ways — 
And  the  strong  and  the  weak  we  knew — 

Each  little  thing  the  old  sights  bring 
With  the  soft  Trades  sifting  through. 


The  last  lights  fail  o'er  the  well-known  trail: 

We'll  see  it  all  again 
Through  the  crowding  years  of  smiles  and  tears, 

The  blue  and  the  white-clothed  men : 

[68] 


(The  month-long  chase  of  the  island  race 

That  stab  by  dark  and  fly, 
The  running  fight  and  the  watching  night 

And  the  shadows  gliding  by.) 

The  sough  of  the  trees  in  the  evening  breeze — 

The  distant  tom-tom's  beat — 
The  chill  of  the  rain  on  the  rice-soaked  plain, 

And  the  stench  of  the  village  street. 

We'll  walk  once  more  on  the  coral  shore, 
'Neath  the  blaze  of  the  copper  skies : 

We'll  hear  again  the  weird  refrain 

Where  th/e  shack  in  the  palm-grove  lies. 

We'll  live  the  ways  of  the  yesterdays — 

Each  sound  and  scent  and  sight : 
Though  cynics  deride,  we  are  satisfied 

Our  choice  is  made  aright. 


[60] 


^a 


MAJOR  SOUR 

If  any  doubt  this  little  tale. 
Some  several  hundred  Tnen, 

A  scattered  through  this  lovely  land 
Will  prove  the  writer^s  pen. 


Once  in  the  far-famed  Philippines, 
When  war  was  sometimes  rife, 

There  reigned  an  army  officer, 
Who  dearly  loved  his  life. 


He  held  a  little  four-walled  town, 
And  kept  it  neat  and  clean : 

But  when  the  soldiers  hit  the  hills — 
His  Grace  was  seldom  seen. 


Now  Major  Sour  was  a  man 
Large-bellied,  bold  and  grand; 

With  whiskers  white  and  haughty  mien 
That  spake,  "I  rule  the  land." 

[70] 


He  regulated  what  should  be 

The  market-price  of  fruit : 
Which  way  the  inside  gate-guard  faced 

When  making  his   salute. 


(And  let  us  pause  to  here  remark, 

With  no  equivocations, 
His  law  upon  the  latter  was 

Opposed  to  "  Regulations  "). 


He  worried  lest  a  Moro  kid 

Should  'neath  his  jacket  hold 

A  mango  knife — or  opium 
For  Chinos  bad  and  bold. 


He  toadied  to  the  Sultan 
Lest  any  harm  draw  near — 

And  bound  poor  little  Jolo  down 
From  land-gates  to  the  pier. 


He  fretted  lest  the  weeds  should  grow 
Within  the  flowered  park. 

And  had  his  vigilantes  guard 
His  door-steps  after  dark. 

[71] 


And  if  a  Moro,  through  the  wall, 
Stood  looking  rather  grim, 

Three  companies  and  gatlings  twain 
Were  straightway  hurled  at  him. 

But  when  the  soldiers  left  the  town, 
He  kept  behind  a  guard; 

And  trembling  (for  his  army's  fate). 
He  paced  Headquarter's  yard. 


Oh  Major  Sour,  when  we  stop 
To  think  of  you — we're  fain 

To  hold  our  splitting  sides  with  mirth. 
And  laugh  and  laugh  again. 


[72] 


ARMY  BEANS 

You  may  dilly-dally  knife  and  fork 
In  delicacies  delicious, 
And  in  pate,  duck  and  terrapin  and  know  if  they're 
right. 
You  may  criticise — expostulate — 
And  figit  with  your  oysters, 
While  yearning  dishes  for  a  satiated  appetite. 

Army  Beans?     Oh  they're  vulgar — 
Pos-i-tive-ly  really  common — 
In  fact  they're  most  plebeian — if  you  hanker  for 
the   truth. 
So  very  inexpensive, 

And  the  recipe  is  simple; 
For  they  bake  and  ship  'em  'round  the  world  to 
feed  the  Great  Uncouth. 

Well,  dander  with  your  "  delicacies  " — 
Of  course,  you're  welcome  to  'em — 
But  sometimes  when  it  seems  to  me  I  kind  o'  want  a 
"feed": 

[73] 


I  go  and  order  army  beans — 

A  soup-plate  full  and  brimming — 
And — ^if  you  think  it  dreadful — why  you  needn't 
look,  indeed. 

They're  brown  and  plump  and  steaming — 
They're  luscious,  large  and  lovely — 
And  the  restaurant  and  waiters  slowly  melt  and 
fade  away: 
And  a  hazy  shadow's  rising 
Like  a  mirage  on  the  ocean — 
It's  a  palm-grove  gently  bending  o'er  a  coral-bitten 
bay. 

And  the  flying-fish  are  flitting 
In  and  out  the  rain-bow  waters, 
And  the  beach  is  white  and  gleaming  'neath  an 
empty  purple  sky : 
And  the  tasseled  fronds  are  droning 

Through  the  endless  end-world  stillness, 
'Till  the  night-wind's  weary  wailing  wakes  the  tom- 
tom's deep  reply. 

'Till  the  yellow  grass  is  rustling 
With  the  feet  of  fifty  horses — 
'Till  fifty  weary  troopers  drop  from  fifty  weary 
backs : 

m 


And  fifty  hungry,  munching  mouths, 
(Just  barring-out  the  sentries), 
Are  stuffed  and  crammed  with  army  beans  exuding 
from  the  cracks. 

Yes — they've  stood  us  rather  handy 
In  the  lurching  transport  galley: 
Yes — they've  stood  us  rather  neatly — 'neath   the 
fern-crotched  jungle  trees: 
On  mountain  trail,  in  paddy  vale, 
And  through  the  shack-rimmed  alley; 
In  cholera  camp  and  bivouac,  where  falls  the  fe- 
vered breeze. 

They've  sought  the  deepest  crevices — 
'Tween  ribs  we  saw  and  counted: 
Though  vulgar,  coarse  and  common  they've  backed 
us  in  a  need: 
And  the  flavor  and  the  savor 
Sort  o'  bring  a  funny  quaver — 
And  I  think  as  no  one's  looking — I'll  sneak  in  a 
while  and  "  feed." 


[75] 


BUGLES  CALLING 

Up  above  the  roaring  traffic — 

Where  the  caverns  rise — 
Shrill  and  piercing,  clear  and  cutting, 

Through  the  smoky  skies — 
Bugles  calling,  bugles  calling. 

Over  land  and  sea — 
Bugles  calling,   calling,   calling. 

Bugles  calling  me. 

Little  men  and  little  madness — 

Sordid  greed  and  gain — 
Till  we  hear  the  bugles  leaping 

Down  the  asphalt  lane: 
Till  the  reeking  towers  vanish 

And  the  winds  waft  free, 
Bugles   calling,    calling,    calling. 

Bugles  calling  me. 

Once  again  familiar  faces 

Beckon  o'er  the  ways; 
Once  again  with  stirrups  touching 

Ride  the  yesterdays. 
[76] 


Olden  friends  and  love  and  laughter- 
Proved  sincerity 

Bugles  calling,  calling,  calli/ng. 
Bugles  calling  me. 

Once  again  the  trails  are  burning 

'Neath  a  tropic  sun: 
Once  again  the  plains  are  baking 

Where  no  rivers  run : 
Once  again  the  old  ambitions 

Whisper  longingly 

Bugles  calling,   calling,  calling. 

Bugles  calling  me. 

Once  again  the  vine-choked  jungle 

'Bove  the  swollen  stream — 
Once  again  the  silken  rustle 

Where  the  bamboos   gleam: 
Once  again  the  snowy  coral 

Laii^ghing  by  the  sea 

Bugles^  calling,  calling,  calling. 

Bugles  calli/ng  me. 

Once  again  the  running  skirmish 

'Neath  the  mid-day  glare : 
Once  again  the  midnight  mountains 

When  the  fires  flare: 

[77] 


Once  again  the  careless  columns 
Laughing  wearily 

Bugles  calling,  calling,  calling. 
Bugles  calling  me. 

By  the  high-hoped  days  behind  us- 

By  the  years  we  knew — 
By  the  heart-whole  life  they  lent  us, 

Ringing   fair   and  true 

Bugles  callvng,  bugles  calling. 

Over  land  and  sea — 
Bugles  callvng — calling — calling — 

Bugles  calling  me. 


[781 


HEROES 

Here  and  there  and  everywhere — 

Ever  the  story's  told : 
By  pen  and  tongue  their  song  is  sung, 

As  is  your  want  of  old 
Your  want  is  good — though  ye  forget 

The  nameless  manifold. 

But  the  off-shore  breeze  of  the  silent  seas 
Is   whispering   through   the   night; 

And  if  you  list  to  the  tree-tops'  tryst — 
And  if  you  hear  aright — 

You'll  learn  again  through  the  wind  and  rain 
The  tale  of  the  distant  fight. 

You'll  know  once  more  the  cannons'  roar 
And  the  flare  of  the  long  lean  guns: 

You'll  watch  them  fall  by  the  outer  wall 
Where  the  red-choked  river  runs: 

You'll  see  them  die  as  the  lines  roar  by — 
The  bravest  of  our  sons. 

[79] 


Go  where  the  sage-brush  dots  the  plain 

White-parched  with  alkali — 
And  the  thin  coyote  and  the  tumbled  rock 

And  the  burning  copper  sky — 
To  Apache  and  Comanche  who 

Can  show  you  where  they  lie. 

Go  skirt  the  East  to  the  outer  isles, 
And  the  blaze  of  the  fire-tree — 

And  the  swaying  palm  and  the  coral  beach 
And  the  lift  of  the  flame-streaked  sea — 

To  where  the  bare  bamboos  stand  guard 
Through  all  eternity. 

By  rock-bound  plain  and  heat-bound  trail 
And  the  stench  of  the  paddies'  mire ; 

By  blizzard  blast  and  blazing  sun, 
And  the  tropic's  fevered  fire — 

Unmarked  they  lie  beneath  the  sky 
To  prove  The  Strong  Desire. 


[80] 


AN  EXILE 

He's  looking  out  across  the  bay 

Where  the  sunset  fires  fail — 
He's  staring  far  behind  the  hills 

Beyond  the  Outer  Pale — 
He's  put  his  world  behind  him  in 

The  East-bound  steamer's  trail. 

The  fetid  heat— the  fetid  lif e— 

The  fetid  fever  too — 
The  long  checked  paddy  stretches, 

And  the  quivering  dome  of  blue — 
The  creeping  carabao  sledge, 

And  the  shacks  of  split  bamboo. 

He   cannot  tell  the   Occident 

The  feeling  of  the  East. 
He  can't  describe  the  deathly  calm 

When  every  wind  has  ceased 
And  the  lizards  crawl  through  the  nipa  wall 

To  snatch  their  living  feast. 

6  [81] 


He  can't  describe  the  stillness 

Of  the  endless  tropic  day. 
He's  'most  forgotten  there's  a  land 

Where  people  really  pray. 
He  only  knows  the  brazen  heat 

And  the  careless,  calm  dismay. 

The  parrots  mock  him  overhead — 

The  lizards  'neath  the  eave — 
The  fever  calls  him  for  her  own — 

(She  never  will  deceive) — 
And  the  days  are  months  and  the  months  are  years 

That  scorn  the  last  reprieve. 

Then — if  you  have  a  soul  at  all — 

And  if  you  ever  Care — 
And  if  you  have  a  little  time — 

(Which  you  can  surely  spare) — 
For  God's  sake  drop  a  letter  to 

An  exile  over  there. 


[82] 


THE  MACHINE  GUN 

I'm  watching  how  the  gallant  lines 
Come  bravely  forging  forward: 
I  gurgle  with  the  gunner  filling  breech  and  taking 
sight : 
And  when  the  long  flat  fronts  appear 
At  just  the  proper  distance, 
They  let  me  loose — and  none   go  back  to  boast 
about  the  fight, 

I'm  spitting  through  the  tropic  gloom — 
The  fever-laden  stillness — 
I  hew  the  lean,  swarth  runners  down  behind  the 

bare  bamboo  . 

I  strew  them  thick  across  the  deck 
In  reeking,  writhing  torture, 
And  stop  the  final  struggles  with  an  extra  shot  or 
two. 

I'm  landing  with  the  first  marines — 
They  couldn't  do  without  me — 
I  open  up  an  alley  from  the  water  to  the  town. 

[83] 


I  clear  the  roofs  and  gates  and  walls — 
No  hidden  hole  escapes  me — 
And  then  I  take  a  breath  and  watch  the  colors 
coming  down. 

I'm  sweeping  o'er  the  charging  plain — 
The  brave  and  young  and  careless— 
I  drop  them  gently  over  like  the  grass  beneath 

the  scythe 

I'm  shrieking  down  the  fighting-tops 
To  catch  the  hidden  gunners, 
For  the  demon  blood  is  in  me  and  I  love  to  see 
them  die. 

I'm  choking  up  the  narrow  pass — 
The  narrow  pass  before  me — 
Awhile  the  pallid  peaks  peer  down  in  horror  and 
dismay : 
Leonidas  and  every  band 
In  history  or  in  story, 
They  could  not  hold  the  red  defile  as  I  hare  done 
to-day. 

The  loosened  rock,  the  boomerang, 
The  sword  and  lance  and  arrow — 
The  dagger,  pike  and  hand-grenade — ^the  arquebus 
and  gun — 

[84] 


I  trace  a  lineage  long  and  proud 
That  man  has  hewn  for  me — 
And  now  I  stand  the  Lord  of  War,  blood-reeking 
'neath  the  sun. 


[85] 


REGULAR  AND  MILITIAMAN 

THE  MILITIAMAN  SPEAKS 

You're  really   most   unpolished  and 

You  seem  a  trifle  tough; 
Your  ways  are  not  the  ways  of  us — 

You're  rather  brief  and  bluff. 
Your  uniform  is  awfully  plain — 

Your  campaign  hat's  a  sight — 
Your  leggings  they  are  washed  until 

You've  bleached  'em  nearly  white. 

And  some  of  you  tobacco  chew! 

And  smoke  and  drink  and  swear  I 
And  sit  a  horse  or  caisson  just 

As  if  you  "  didn't  care." 
You  lack  the  really  proper  stride, 

And  cut  and  dress  and  style — 
And  seldom  (but  among  yourselves) 

You  speak  or  joke  or  smile. 

THE  KEGULAR  ANSWERS 

Yes  Handsome  Harry  with  your  stride 
And  military  air — 

[86] 


Your  waving  plume  and  corded  coat, 
And  trousers  pressed  with  care ; 

Your  well-provisioned  summer  camp, 
For  ladies'  lavish  praise — 

Or  prancing  aft  a  braying  band 
Adown  the  curb-stoned  ways. 

! 

Perhaps  we  are  a  little  tanned — 

A  little  careless  too — 
Perhaps  you've  said  a  trifle  that 

Is  really  rather  true; 
But  come  with  us  and  live  with  us, 

And  march  and  laugh  and  cry ; 
And  joke  with  us  and  hate  with  us. 

And  fight  and  starve  and  die. 

Come  where  the  same  low  rolling  plains. 

The  same  old  sky  Hues  meet; 
The  same  old  rock  and  sage-brush  hide 

The  same  old  gila's  feet ; 
The  same  coyote's  nerve-piercing  note, 

When  the  copper  skies  turn  blue ; 
And  the  same  parade  and  guard  and  driUj 

The  long  long  seasons  through. 

Come  where  beneath  the  dripping  palms 
The  stinking  marshes  rise; 

[87] 


Across  the  trampled  paddies  'neath 
The   burning   tropic    skies. 
aC  Beyond  the  farther  ocean  when 

The  lines  of  phosphor  glow — 

To  where  the  pale  and  mighty  Cross 
Reflects  the  southern  snow. 

To  where  the  careless  combers  o'er 

The  coral  caverns  roll; 
To  where  the  fetid  fever  burns 

Your  head  and  heart  and  soul. 
To  where  the  laws  of  God  and  man — 

Of  truth  and  faith  and  right — 
Are  churned  with  Asian  guilt  and  guile, 

Starvation,  march,  and  fight. 

If  you  would  up  and  go  with  us 

Across   the   sunset    sea — 
If  you  would  taste  a  bit  of  it 

With  careless,  candid  We; 
If  you  would  buckle-up  with  us 

In  mud  and  alkali — 
You'd  learn  a  soldier^s  answer,  and — 

You'd  know  the  reasons  why. 


[88] 


THE  NEWER  SCHOOL  OF  POETRY 

The  men  of  the  Newer  School — ^AU  hail! 

That  race  with  the  roaring  flood, 
The  men  of  the  newer  living  school, 

That  quicken  the  slackened  blood. 

The  men  of  the  Older  School — for  they 

The  overcultured  few — 
The  long  ambiguous  drawn  lines 

Of  pale  aesthetic  hue. 

The  slaves  of  meter,  who  sacrifice 

For  a  technically  perfect  stress 
The  salt  and  the  savor — the  blood  and  the  iron — 

Of  things  we  love  and  bless. 

i 

The  poets  erratic,  pedantic  and  strange. 

Uncanny — unkempt— uncouth — 
With  songs  of  the  seasons  and  flowers  and  love, 

Or  a  deep  and  unfathomable  truth. 

[89] 


So  here's  to  the  men  of  the  quickening  pulse — 

The  newer  and  stronger  school: 
And  here's   to   the  songs   of  the  living  world — 

Past  cant  and  the  pedagogue  rule. 

To  the  men  of  the  Newer  School — All  hail! 

From  the  Horn  to  the  Naked  Naze: 
With  the  breath  of  the  brine  in  every  line, 

As  the  feathering  combers  raise. 

With  the  scent  of  the  flowers  among  the  palms 

When  the  cockatoo  homeward  flies : 
Or  the  moan  of  the  pine  'neath  the  Arctic  line, 

When  the  shuddering  daylight  dies. 

They're  bending  the  Poles  to  the  burning  Belt, 

For  the  eyes  of  the  lesser  blest; 
With  a  mightier  girth  they  girdle  the  earth, 

And  the  peoples  of  East  and  West. 


The  men  of  the  Newer  School — All  hail ! 

From  the  Gulf  to  the  Baltic  Sea: 
The  men  of  the  Newer  School,  dear  boys. 

For  stupid  old  you  and  me. 

[90] 


WAR 

And  shall  we  have  eternal  peace — 

Will  yet  the  nations  stand 
Unarmed  through  endless  eons  on. 

Bound  hearts  and  hand  to  hand? 
The  question  rang  through  timeless  space, 

And  the  outer  answer  came 
Through  spaceless  time  the  droning  rhyme 

The  answer  and  the  blame: 

So  long  as  the  stately  Cross  stands  south 

And  the  Dipper  swings  the  north, 
So  long  will  the  Young  Men  leap  afresh 

When  the  war  drums  rattle  forth. 
New  life — new  love — new  blood — new  hope — 

And  the  skies  are  leaden  rain — 
But  ever  they  rush  where  the  front  lines  crush 

Again  and  yet  again. 

And  we  caught  the  solemn  whisper 
Through  the  drift  of  the  driven  roar. 

And  we  let  them  prattle  lasting  peace, 
We  knew  the  answer — War. 

[91] 


And  we  watched  the  riven  country 
Weld  fast  at  the  outer  breath — 

And  we  saw  brave  eyes  'neath  shot-swept  skies- 
And  we  bowed  to  embattled  Death. 


When  the  cave-man  killed  his  brother. 
When  the  tribes  slew  one  another, 
When  the  glaciers  first  receded 

It  was  war. 
As  it  was  vn  the  beginning — 
We  have  heard  the  prophets  svnging — 
As  it  was  in  the  begvnnmg. 

And  shall  be  for  evermore. 


[92] 


MUSIC 

'Twixt  God  and  Man  a  closer  span, 

Half  human  half  divine: 
The  lilt  that  lies  beyond  the  skies 

To  Hft  us  o'er  the  Line. 
Both  last  and  first  to  quench  the  thirst 

With  long  forsaken  thought; 
And  lure  us  there  in  higher  air, 

Where  noble  deeds  are  wrought. 

To  buoy  youth  with  stronger  truth, 

And   large   ambition's   fire: 
To  help  the  weak  repentance  seek, 

And  strengthen  good  desire: 
To  bring  us  back  o'er  trail  and  track, 

O'er  mountain,  gulf  and  sea. 
The  mellow  haze  of  other  days 

Now  lost  to  you  and  me. 


[M] 


THE  MILLIONAIRES 

He  died — The  trumpets  woke  the  hills — 

The   clarion   voices   sang. 
From  east  and  west  and  south  and  north 

The  world-wide  echoes  rang — 
"  Financial   King — Philanthropist — 

'  Power  '  and  Millionaire  " — 
But  the  Guardian  Angel  saw  him  not 

As  he  was  passing  there. 

He  died — No  echo  woke  the  hills — 

The  World  was  mute  and  still. 
None  talked  of  his  philanthropy — 

(None  heard  or  ever  will). 
But  the  Guardian  Angel  greeting  gave, 

And  the  dwellers  over  there 
With  eyes  adim  they  welcomed  him 

For  Heaven's  millionaire. 


[94] 


JOGGINS 

Now  Joggins  wrought  a  wondrous  scheme 
Most  perfect,  wise  and  great — 

To  transport  logs  by  the  open  sea, 
South-bound  and  scorning  freight. 

So  log  by  log  and  chain  by  chain 

He  lashed  the  timbers  tight. 
And  Nova  Scotia  bade  God-speed 

As  it  cleared  the  farthest  light. 

And  Joggins  watched  the  vast  beast  bend 

On  the  tops  of  the  tipsy  sea, 
And  Joggins  heard  the  crunching  roar 

Like  giants  in  agony. 

And  through  the  long  black  endless  nights 

He  saw  it  sink  and  rise; 
He  saw  it  roll  on  the  smooth-backed  swell 

Or  lash  'neath  the  storm-swept  skies. 

[95] 


He  saw  it  crumple  and  straighten  back, 

And  rush  and  jam  again; 
And  he  felt  the  laugh  from  the  distant  shore — 

The  scorn  of  his  fellowmen. 

But  the  many-bodied  monster  held 

'Neath  the  curb  of  the  crackling  chain, 

And  the  distant  port  was  sighted  now, 
The  sunshine  after  rain. 

When,  the  sea  rose  high  in  its  ancient  might — 

As  the  sea  is  wont  to  do — - 
And  it  watched  the  jam  roll  snug  and  tight 

For   the   harbor   headed   true: 

And  the  sea  in  anger  snapped  the  chains 

And  flung  the  great  logs  wide — 
And  the  world  derisive,  laughed  again — 

It  laughed — and   Joggins  cried. 


They  hammered  around  the  beetling  Horn 
In  the  teeth  of  the  polar  hail — 

They  drifted  along  by  the  ice-bound  coast 
In  the  shriek  of  the  frozen  gale. 

[96] 


Slowly  but  sure  as  the  days  endure 

They  crept  to  the  tropic  calm; 
They  lolled  and  rolled  in  the  gold-streaked  sea 

By  the  fire-tree  and  palm. 

They  buckled  back  on  a  sightless  track 

Past  Behring's  lonely  grave — 
They  prodded  and  rammed  in  the  coast-wise  drift 

Where  the  North  Lights  leap  and  wave. 

They  turned  again  by  the  Spanish  Main 

And  the  isles  of  hidden  gold; 
They  ran  the  Pillars  of  Hercules 

To  the  lands  that  were  of  old. 

They  weathered  the  cape  of  the  chattering  ape — 
They  weathered  the  ice-bound  floe — 

And  the  upright  penguin  looked  askance, 
Surprised  to  see  them  go. 

By  Dipper  and  Cross  and  never  a  loss 
They  rolled  with  the  ocean  breeze — 

By  the  Four  Great  Points  they  swept  around 
On  the  breast  of  the  far-flung  seas. 

Till  a  message  flashed — "  Note  ye  the  place 
That  a  log  is  seen  of  you : " 

7  p7J 


And  mariners  marked  the  time  and  clime, 
As  they   were   told  to   do. 

And  scholars  scanned  the  rude  reports 

Astreak  with  dirt  and  oil — 
And  lastly  learned  a  lesson  as 

Reward  of  patient  toil. 

And  they  made  a  map  of  the  mighty  seas. 
And  stretched  from  shore  to  shore 

They  drew  mysterious  arrowed  lines, 
(Where  nought  had  been  before). 

That  stole  around  by  the  Arctic  night. 

And  down  to  the  coral  strand ; 
That  swept  again  o'er  the  open  main — 

Uniting  land  and  land. 

That  weathered  the  cape  of  the  chattering  ap( 
That  weathered  the  ice-bound  floe — 

And  the  upright  penguin  looked  askance — 
But  failed  to  see  them  go. 


So  ships  that  haste  from  shore  to  shore, 
Pursue  the  hidden  tide; 
[98] 


And  the  world  derisive  laughs  no  more — 
That  laughed — ^when  Joggins  cried. 

For  ships  that  haste  from  shore  to  shore, 
They  follow  the  arrows'  straint: 

And  Joggins  a  human  failure — 
Is  Joggins  a  patron  saint. 


[99] 


THE  SONG  OF  THE  BATTLESHIP 

This  is  the  song  of  the  battleship — 

King  of  the  fighting  line — 
Broad  and  huge  and  massive. 

Ploughing  the  white-fleclced  brine: 
Rolling  the  coal  black  clouds  abaft. 

Belching  fire  and  flame — 
Death  and  red  destruction  for 

The  honor  of  our  name. 

Oh  the  cruiser's  mighty  speedy, 
And  she  can  show  her  heels, 

But  a  rattling  rapid  motion — 
I  don't  know  how  it  feels. 

The  cruiser  she  is  graceful. 
And  long  and  high  and  fine. 

But  Vm  the   column's  mainstay — 

The  bull-dog  of  the  line. 

Torpedo-boats  and  submarines 
They  flash  and  dart  and  glide; 

They  plunge  and  hit  and  get  away. 
They  break  the  battle's  tide; 

[100] 

/ 


They  carry  death's  destruction, 

They  fight  Hke  Httle  men, 
But  when  they  have  to  cut  and  run — 

They  seek  my  turrets,  then. 

The   grey-hounds   and   the   hornets 

They  scout  and  chase  and  fight; 
We  could  not  do  without  them 

In  the  daytime  or  the  night. 
But  the  back-bone  of  the  battle, 

When  the  twelve-inch  ravens  fly, 
Is  where  beneath  my  fighting-tops 

You   hear  the  battle-cry. 

You  see  my  low  round  turrets 

Hurl  flame  and  shot  and  shell — 
You  see  through  torn  side  and  deck 

My  boilers'  gaping  hell — 
You  hear  the  roar  and  thunder 

Of  "  six  "  and  "  eight  "  and  "  ten  "— 
You  hear  the  cheer  of  victory — 

The  prayers  of  dying  men. 

And  when  the  last  faint  echo 

Has  sped  across  the  sea, 
And  when  the  last  war-clouds  have  rolled 

Abaft  the  squadron's  lee, 

[101] 


.r>rn'^\:r-:  i^.^^'^\ 


They  pat  me  and  they  praise  me, 
And  they  say  things  large  and  fine — 

To  the  ugly  broad  and  stumpy 
Fighting  bull-dog  of  the  line. 

This  is  the  song  of  the  battleship — 

A  floating  fortress  great; 
Massive,  srmrlvng,  smoke-he  grimed — 

Defender  of  the  State: 
Lord  of  the  red-embattled  foam — 

King  of  the  crimsoned  seas — 
Where'er  the  conquering  Stars  and  Stripes 

Are  flung  to  the  battle  breeze. 


[1021 


AROLAS  AT  JOLO 

(a  true  tale) 

Hated  by  those  in  power  high, 

In  the  land  that  gave  me  birth, 
They  hunted  the  countries  of  East  and  West 

For  the  vilest  hole  on  earth. 

They  could  not  kill  me  there  and  then, 

Without  the  large  offence, 
So  they  sought  for  the  sickliest  spot  they  knew, 

And  quickly  sent  me  thence. 

Then  in  Madrid  they  laughed  and  sneered, 
And  wagered  their  plundered  gold. 

On  the  number  of  months  or  weeks  or  days 
From  the  fever's  grip  I'd  hold. 

And  it  grew  to  a  joke  on  the  laughing  lips 
Of  the  dukes  and  the  high  grandees, 

Of  the  new  command  the  king  had  found 
For  me  in  the  phosphor  seas. 

[103] 


Far  down  in  the  south  of  the  Philippines, 

On  the  coast  of  a  fevered  isle, 
In  the  midst  of  the  stench  of  a  jungle-swamp, 

In  the  heart  of  the  tropic's  bile : 


In  the  land  of  the  Moro  and  pirate  and  snake. 
And  the  glare  of  the  scorching  sky. 

They  stationed  Arolas,  a  general  of  Spain, 
With  a  handful  of  men — ^to  die. 


So  we  fought  the  fanatics  who  came  from  the 
hills. 

And  the  pirates  who  came  from  the  seas; 
Then  we  turned  on  our  last  and  our  deadliest  foe. 

The  fever  that  came  on  the  breeze. 


Sick'ning  and  toiling,  we  drained  and  filled. 
Till  acres  of  marsh  turned  land: 

And  the  fever  that  reigned  in  the  reeking  place 
Was  choked  with  an  iron  hand. 

Then  we  builded  a  wall  with  the  bricks  they  sent. 

And  pieces  of  coral  rock; 
The  better  our  dwindled  band  to  guard 

Against  the  Mohammedan  flock. 

[104] 


Within  the  loop-holed  walls  we  laid 
Streets — shaded,  graded,  broad: 

Cuartel  and  plaza — flowered  parks- 
Fit  town  for  any  lord. 


Block-houses,   light-house,   waterworks: 

Ten  fathoms  ofi^  the  pier; 
And  virgin  soil  in  the  shaded  vales, 

And  pearls  in  the  waters  near. 


The  weeks  rolled  by,  and  the  months  rolled  by, 

And  the  seasons  slowly  spent; 
But  never  a  word  of  me  or  mine. 

On  the  home-bound  mail-boat  went. 


Madrid  perplexed,  Manila-ward 
Sent  message  o'er  the  sea — 

"  Arolas  stationed  to  the  South- 
What  news  of  him  have  ye  ?  " 


Then  from  Manila  down  they  came. 

Gold-laced,  officious,  grand; 
Wide-mouthed  they  gazed  on  street  and  park. 

Wall,  light-house,  sea  and  land. 

[105] 


Well-ordered,  cool,  clean,  healthy,  strong- 

They  saw  my  place  aright — 
And  in  my  gaunt  and  weathered  face. 

They  read  the  fearful  fight. 


To-day  I  bowed  before  my  King- 
(The  Nobles  bowed  to  me) — 

And  Spain  exultantly  extols 
My  name  from  sea  to  sea. 


[106] 


OUR  SHIPS  OF  GOOD  INTENTION 

Our  Ship  of  Good  Intentions — 

We  have  seen  it  drift  away, 
We  have  watched  it  beating  outward 

Through  the  capes  that  bind  the  bay  ; 
And  marooned  upon  an  island, 

With  the  weary  wastes  behind, 
We  have  stood  and  gazed  in  torture 

As  it  faded  with  the  wind. 

But  again  we  fell  the  timber, 

And  again  we  plane  and  bend. 
And  again  we  mast  and  rig  it, 

(As  we  will  unto  the  end)  ; 
And  again,  with  Hope  for  pilot 

And  a  rainbow  'round  the  bow. 
We  will  launch  and  sail  her  seaw^ard 

'Neath  our  banner's  burning  vow. 


Hard  down  the  hulls  are  heaving 
On  the  ocean's  breaking  breast; 

[107] 


Hard  down  they're  going  under 
In  the  glowing  of  the  west — 

But,  casting  eyes,  to  eastward 
There  above  the  Even  Star, 

Phantom  keels  are  mounting  upward. 
Scorning  rock  and  wind  and  bar. 

Phantom  keels  and  bellied  canvas — 

Bent  spars  before  the  wind — 
And  Fancy  at  the  figure-head. 

And  never  thought  behind: 
And  laughing  lights  to  leeward 

O'er  phosphor  seas  afire, 
And  faith  and  might  to  steer  aright 

To  the  Land  of  Our  Desire. 


[108] 


CHRISTMAS  GREETING 

May  the  joys  of  Christmas  bring 
To  your  heart  eternal  Spring, 
Though  the  ground  is  white  and  frozen  where  the 

flakes  of  winter  fly 

And  adown  the  checkered  years — 
If  betimes  a  shadow  rears — 
May  your  Yuletide  ghmmer  brightly  through  the 
scarlet-dawning  sky. 


[109] 


THE  EMPIRE  CITIES 

These  are  the  songs  we  proudly  sing — the  Empire 

cities  eight — 
For  we  stand  for  a  land,  broad,  fertile,  grand;  and 

rich  and  strong  and  great. 

New  York. 

I  cast  my  eyes  to  eastward,  and  the  sea  gives  up 
its  store; 

I  cast  my  eyes  to  westward  where  the  mill  and  rail- 
road roar. 

And  the  riches  of  the  Eastland  and  the  treasures  of 
the  West, 

I  pour  across  the  stormy  seas  to  nations  lesser 
blest. 

And  where  spire  and  twenty-story  building  bite  the 
morning  sky. 

My  thirty  nations  love  and  fight  and  live  and  toil 
and  die. 

[110] 


Philadelphia. 

I    claim    no   thirty    nations — I    boast    no    violent 

strife — 
And   they   taunt   me    for   my    slowness    and   my 

steady,  quiet  life, 
But  rich  and  poor  and  great  and  small,  however 

far  they  roam, 
They  cherish  me  and  love  me — for  all  that  meaneth 

Home. 
And  the  loom  and  lathe  and  hammer  turn   and 

pound  the  livelong  day. 
And  a  solid  prosperous  present  blends  with  glorious 

mem'ries  gray. 


Washington. 

I  hold  the  nation's   destiny,   I   hold  the  people's 

fate, 
My  mandates  bind  from  old  Cape  Cod  'cross  to  the 

Golden  Gate, 
And  the  mightiest  nations  of  the  earth  beyond  the 

purple  sea, 
Their  jeweled  and  ribboned  ministers  they  eager 

send  to  me. 
And  prince  and  king  and  emperor  in  fear  or  dread 

or  hate, 
On  word  or  ultimatum  mine  must  patiently  await. 

[1111 


Chicago. 

The  way  unto  the  heartstrings  of  the  animal  called 

Man 
Is   through   his   stomach — ^thus  the  very   ancient 

proverb   ran. 
So  if  any  city  of  the  earth  deserves  more  love 

than  I, 
It  must  be  where  the  manna  falls  in  showers  from 

the  sky. 
Duluth  to  Buffalo  my  ships  sail  o'er  the  saltless 

seas, 
And  railroads  sending  food,  bring  gold,  and  give 

my  people  ease. 

San  Francisco. 

Like  Rome  of  old,  on  rugged  hills,  I  sit  in  majesty, 

And  from  my  mighty  cliffs  look  out  across  a  sunset 
sea. 

And  the  riches  of  the  Orient,  silk,  tea,  pearl,  jade 
and  spice, 

Must  enter  through  my  Golden  Gate,  your  cul- 
tured to  suffice. 

And  hidden  batt'ries  'mong  my  cliffs  inspect  the 
western  sky. 

For  I  watch  the  Asian  millions  with  an  ever  wake- 
ful eye. 

[112] 


Honolulu. 

The  jewel  of  the   Orient  where  the  lava  hot  is 

hurled, 
I'm  famed  abroad  the  beauteous  garden  spot  of  all 

the  world. 
Two  thousand  miles  to  eastward  lies  my  mother 

country  great, 
And  to  her  I  join  the  Philippines  and  watch  the 

islands'  fate. 
And  the  splendors  of  the  Orient  and  glories  of  the 

West, 
Commingling   with    the   flag   I   float,    ordain   me 

triply  blest. 

Sitka. 

I  guard  the  northern  waters,  I  gather  hide  and  fur, 
I  watch  the  poachers  off  the  coast,  and  catch  them 

should   they   err. 
And  the  glories  of  the  Northern  Lights  above  the 

frozen  sea. 
Their  dazzling  scintillating  flames  are  flashing  far 

and  free. 
The  nations  send  their  best  and  worst  to  me  to 

gather  gold; 
And  the  snowy  passes  grimly  grasp  their  victims 

manifold. 
3  [113] 


Manila. 

Your  farthest  sentinal — I  stand  upon  the  Asian 

coast, 
Headquarters  for  your  Eastern  trade  and  valiant 

khaki  host; 
And    thirty    miles    across    the   bay    beyond    Cor- 

regidor 
The  ever  troubled  China  Sea  is  lapping  China's 

shore. 
And  Cebu  hemp  and  Jolo  pearls,  Luzon  tobacco  too, 
I  ship  to  east  and  westward,  and  swell  your  revenue. 


This  is  the  chorus  where  we  join  hands  *cross  the 

land  a/nd  sea. 
For   the  fame  we  sing  is   a   lasting   thvag,   am,d 

helpeth   thou   and   me. 


[114] 


THE  HEART  OF  THE  ROVER 

They're  sniffing  the  brine  of  the  ocean — 

They're  smelHng  the  dust  of  the  plain — 
They're  Hving  the  days  of  the  wanderer, 

Over   and   over   again. 
The  lights  of  the  tropic  sunset — 

The  dusk  of  the  ice-bound  floes — 
Are  drifting  anew — the  seasons  through — 

When  the  heart  of  the  rover  goes. 

The  song  of  a  bird  in  the  maple — 

The  silver  of  wind-turned  leaves — 
The  new-wet  pine  or  clover — 

The  drone  of  the  swarming  bees — 
A  sight — a  scent — a  something — 

Brings  back  o'er  plain  and  sea, 
To  the  heart  of  the  one-time  rover, 

The  days  of  Used-to-be. 

Were  they  days  of  joy  and  pleasure? 

Were  they  days  of  fast  and  drouth? 
Were  they  spent  by  the  palm-topped  coral — - 

Or  the  drifts  of  the  cross-crowned  south? 

[116] 


Were  they  years  of  haughty  exile? 

Were  they  years  of  bitter  need? 
Of  warring  or  vindication? 

Of  avarice?     Honor?     Greed? 

They  were  spent — that's  all.     They've  faded 

As  the  silent  seasons  roUl 
But  things  to  others  meaningless 

Are  filling  the  rover's  soul. 
A  sight — a  scent — a  something — 

And  over  the  crested  seas — 
For  weal  or  woe  or  sun  or  snow — 

The  heart  of  the  rover  flees. 


[116] 


THE  CLASS  OF  1906  TO  DR.  SMITH 

Now  ere  we  raise  the  wind-swept  ways 
With  new-cut  spar  and  mast — 

Of  all  we  hold  most  dear  and  old 
'Mong  recollections  past — 

We  hold  for  thee  in  memory 
With  golden  links  held  fast. 

By  sun  and  rain — by  hill  and  plain — 
By   palm   and   fir   and   pine : 

By  the  flashing  light  of  the  Arctic  night, 
Or  the  roll  of  the  flame-streaked  line, 

On  land  or  sea  eternally 
Our  hearts  are  ever  thine. 

Across  the  rift  they  beckoning  lift — 
The  lights  that  call  us  there. 

Beyond  the  bay  we  sail  away 
To  a  shore  of  strife  and  care : 

But  may  our  bow  point  true  as  thou — 
Strong,  loving,  just  and  fair. 

[117] 


PENNSYLVANIA   1906  TO  HARVARD  '29 

(Remembering  Oliver  Wendell  Holmes'  class  poems) 

For  love  of  him  who  wrought  thy  name 

By  year  and  year  anew; 
And  like  old  wine  grew  better  as 

The  endless  circles  flew, 
We  praise  thy  mem'ry — silver  sung — 

The  silent  seasons  through. 

For  love  of  him  who  saw  beneath 

And  read  the  inner  sign: 
Who  touched  a  chord  the  angels  keep 

To  mark  the  heart  divine: 
For  love  of  him — we  stand  and  pledge — 

"  The  class  of  Twenty-nine!  " 


[118] 


TO  A  COLLEGE  FRIENDSHIP 

When  the  college  days  are  over — 
When  the  thoughtless  days  are  done — 
When  we  hit  the  different  trails  o'er  land  and  sea : 
When  the  deeper  lines  are  growing — 
'Neath  the  shaded  lamp  or  sun — 
When  we  wash  the  second  buoy  hard  alee. 

When  we  grip  the  straining  tiller — 
When  we  grate  the  sunken  reef — 

When  the  lights  we  thought  would  lead  us  fade 
and  fail: 

,        When  the  somber  skies  are  sinking, 
And  the  crested  combers  seethe — 

And  the  scorning  voices  mock  us  through  the  gale. 

When  the  summer  turns  to  autumn, 
And  the  first  faint  frost  appears — 
Just  a  tinge  of  scattered  gray  ahere  and  there: 
When  we  round  the  homeward  buoy. 
Toward  the  Port  of  All  the  Years — 
And  we  hear  the  rock-perched  sirens   call  "  Be- 
ware ! " 

[119] 


When  we're  beating  in  the  Harbor — 
Scuppers  down  beneath  the  foam — 
With  our  sails  a  Httle  weather-worn  and  frayed : 
We  will  cast  a  golden  blessing — 
In  the  gathering  of  the  gloam — 
O'er  the  distant  days  of  loyal  friendship  made. 


[120] 


THE  SONG  OF  ASIA 

Northward,     southward,     eastward,     westward  — 

frozen  cape  and  boiling  sea; 
Tinted  ocean,  jeweled  islands,  west  to  Urals  bold 

and  free. 
Standing  for  the  oldest  nations,  standing  for  the 

oldest  gods; 
For  those  Oriental  monarchs  ruling  e'er  with  iron 

rods. 

Where  the  Yellow  River  broadens,  where  the  Gobi 

sand-storms  drive. 
Where  the  Lama  rules  in  Lassa,  where  the  ochre 

millions  thrive, 
I  have  watched  the  Dragon   Monarchs  by  their 

stem  and  subtile  might, 
Conquer    from    the    Irawaddy    northward   to   the 

Arctic  night. 

Where  the  mighty  steppes  are  leading  down  to 
Iran's  sandy  plain. 

Gorgeous  Persian  king  and  satrap  once  did  con- 
quer, love  and  reign. 

[121] 


Where  the  great  twin  rivers  windeth  through  the 

cradle  of  the  World, 
To  the  Macedon  and  Roman  culture's  banner  I 

unfurled. 

Gems  of  Ind  and  silks  of  China,  Persian  rug  and 

Arab  gold. 
Splendor,   History   and  Tradition  all  in  me  you 

may  behold. 
Tyre  and  Sidon  planting  cities — ^jewels  upon  the 

purple  seas — 
Sending  gorgeous  goods  of  mine  that  Rome  might 

have  her  luxuries. 

Where  the  Tigris  and  Euphrates  meet  and  singly 

seaward  flow, 
I  have  watched  the  greatest  cities   of  the  whole 

world  rise  and  grow — 
Babylon  the  proud  and  splendid — Ninevah  the  old 

and  grand — 
Empire  cities  wielding  power  over  mountain,  sea 

and  land. 

Samarcand  who  knew  the  glory  of  the  mighty 
Tartar  lords. 

Holding  by  a  bloody  prestige  all  the  reckless  north- 
em  hordes. 

[122] 


Delhi  flashing  white  and  dazzling  'neath  a  red, 

destroying  sun, 
Home  of  Grand  Moguls  the  gorgeous — ere  their 

setting  had  begun. 

Frozen  tundras  of  my  northlands — fertile  valleys 

of  my  east — 
Burning  southlands   jeweled  and  starving — west, 

the  land  of  song  and  feast. 
Genghis  Khan,  Confucius,  Omar,  Cyrus,  Buddha, 

Tamerlane — 
With  those  names  and  golden  mem'ries  wonder  ye 

that  I  am  vain  ? 

I  have  hurled  my  hosts  of  henchmen  like  the  light- 
ning in  its  haste. 

Westward  o'er  the  plains  of  Europe  laying 
slaughter,  blood  and  waste. 

I  have  seen  those  iron  conquerors,  from  Europa's 
barbarous  state 

Raise  the  kingdoms  of  the  present — leam'd  and 
many,  strong  and  great. 

I  was  ancient,  I  was  mighty,  when  no  other  lands 

were  known: 
From  my  Himalayan  foot-hills  sprang  the  tongues 

ye  call  your  own. 

[123] 


First  to  leave  the  savage  Stone  Age,  when  the  cul- 
tured arts  unfurled, 

Look  to  me  and  bow  obeisance — I,  the  Mother  of 
the  World. 


[124] 


A  BALLAD  OF  THE  OLD  EAST 

In  an  old  and  distant  country,  in  the  days  of  long 

ago, 
Lived  a  rich  and  mighty  monarch  by  the  Oxus' 

winding  flow. 

Greatly  feared  by  all  his  foemen,  greatly  loved  by 

all  his  own. 
Brave  and  just — beneath  his  power  vast  and  strong 

the  land  had  grown. 

For  the  fittest  of  the  kingdom — for  the  glory  of 

the  State — 
Issued  he  a  proclamation  to  the  lowly  and  the 

great. 

And  outside  the  palace-gardens,   and  within  the 

market-square. 
All   day   long   the   prince    and   beggar   came   to 

wonder  and  to  stare. 

[125] 


Came  to  wonder,  came  to  ponder,  rub  his  pate  for 

aught  that  he 
For  his  king  or  for  his  country  had  performed  on 

land  or  sea. 


Read  the  placards  boldly  lettered — "  I  the  monarch 
now  proclaim 

To  the  benefactor  greatest  of  my  glorious  do- 
main. 


"  Who  to-morrow  after  sunrise,  in  my  jewel'd  and 

golden  hall. 
Proves  to  me  he  merits  honor   greater  than  his 

fellows  all, 


"  Unto   him   I'll   measure   justly,    from   my   own 

abundant  store. 
Gold  and  jewels  and  hides  as  much  as  he  can  carry 

from  the  door." 


On  the  morrow  ere  the  sunrise  scarce  had  crept 

across  the  plain. 
Came  in  throngs  the  wondering  people,  some  to 

watch  and  some  to  gain. 

[126] 


Into  gate  and  into  palace  at  their  lord  the  king's 

behest. 
These  in  rags,  and  those  in  mantles,  came  they  all 

however  dressed. 


On  his  throne  of  oak  and  ivory,  clad  in  purple 

and  in  gold. 
Sat  the  pride  of  ancient  Asia,  young  in  looks,  in 

wisdom  old. 


Courtiers  none  there  stood  beside  him,  but  before 

his  dazzling  throne. 
Mingled  with  the  meanest  servile,  lowly  stood  to 

plead  their  own. 


Through  the  long  and  tedious  hours  patiently  the 
monarch  heard. 

Never  once  the  face  relaxing,  never  once  a  prais- 
ing word. 


One  and  only  one  was  waiting  to  advance  and  face 

his  lord. 
Gorgeous  flashed  his  warrior  trapeings,  brightly 

blazed  his  heavy  sword. 

[127] 


Long  and  deep  were  seen  the  gashes  on  the  stern 

and  haughty  face, 
Pride   was   he   of   all   the   noblest — ^bravest  of   a 

mighty  race. 


Still  unbending,  unrelenting,  though  his  favorite 

onward  came, 
Sat  the  king  and  raising  sceptre  bade  him  now 

proclaim  his  fame. 


In   a  voice  by  battle  hardened;   slowly   drawing 

round  his  cloak. 
Confident,    expectant   striding,   low   he  bent   and 

boldly  spoke — 


"  Where  the  mighty  southern  mountains  lift  their 

snowy  peaks  on  high. 
Where  the  blackened  hordes  are  sweltering  'neath 

a  blue  and  blazing  sky: 


"  Where  the  sacrificial  river  wends  its  way  unto 

the  shore, 
Through  the  tangled  wood  and  jungle  where  the 

lion  and  tiger  roar : 

[128] 


"  Where  the  yellow  swarms  assemble  'neath  their 

dragon  banners  bright, 
Where  the  Yangtze  broadens  grandly  in  the  realm 

of  Buddha's  might : 


"  Where  the  sands  of  regal  Persia  parch  the  lip 

and  close  the  eye, 
And  on  Mesopotamian  rivers  fast  the  dark-eyed 

boat-men  ply: 


"  I  have  left  in  slain  and  plundered — I  have  left 

in  blood  and  flame. 
Tracks  of  glory  to  my  monarch — terror  for  my 

sovereign's  name." 


But   commotion   'mong   the   listeners    caused   the 

king  to  turn  his  head, 
And  reluctant  from  the  people,  partly  pushed  and 

blushing  red, 


Stepped    a    youth    but    scarcely    twenty,    hardly 

known  was  his  name; 
Sneered  the  chief  that  such  a  stripling  came  to 

snatch  the  wreath  of  fame. 

9  [129] 


"  Mighty  king,  my  lord  and  master,"  spoke  the 

youth  in  faltering  tones, 
"  Smoking  cities,  crimsoned  rivers,  gory  fields  and 

whitening  bones, 


"  Have  I  none  to  lay  before  thee — coming  but  to 

hear  and  learn, 
Since  a  few  have  forced  me  forward,  list,  though 

little  ye'U  discern. 


"  In  my  home  among  the  mountains  runs  a  broad 

and  hurrying  stream. 
Gliding  swiftly  toward  the  sunset  where  we  see 

the  Oxus  gleam. 


"  On  the  banks  to  north  and  southward  by  the 

mountain  breezes  fanned. 
Lie  a  score  of  towns  and  hamlets,  fair  as  any  in 

the  land. 


"  While  above,  within  the  river,  long  has  stood  an 

ancient  dam, 
Where  in  break  of  budding  season  I  was  hunting 

with  Oyam — 

[130] 
( 


"  Friend   of  boyhood,   and  together  walking  up 

beside  the  stream, 
Saw  I  in  the  dam  an  opening,  saw  I  there  the 

water's  gleam. 


"  Saw  I  twenty  thriving  hamlets  and  the  faces  left 

behind. 
And  the  opening  growing  larger,  and  the  waters 

unconfined. 


" '  Quick,  Oyam,'  I  shouted  loudly,  '  speed  as 
speeds  the  wintry  blast ! 

Look,  the  wall  is  slowly  parting!  Warn  the  vil- 
lages we  passed ! ' 


"  To  the  opening  rushed  I  quickly,  thrusting  half 

my  body  through. 
From  my  waist  to  feet  in  water,  which  each  moment 

colder  grew. 


"  But  the  break  was  filled  completely,  when,  ac- 
complishing the  sought. 

From  my  limbs  the  chill  was  creeping  slowly 
headward,  drowning  thought. 

[1311 


"  That  is  all,  except  my  comrade,  with  the  setting 

of  the  sun. 
Hastening    came    with    many    workers,    and    my 

humble  task  was  done." 


Risen  had  the  mighty  monarch  from  his  seat  of 

oak  and  gold. 
Gathered   close   about   the   stripling   pressed   the 
courtiers  young  and  old. 


While  the   murmur   of  approval  high   and   ever 

higher  swelled, 
Till  the   monarch  raised   his   sceptre,   bade   that 

silence  should  be  held. 


Spake  the  king  in  accents  ringing,  "  Lo,  before 

me  plainly  glide 
Visions  twain,  in  mighty  contrast,  slowly  through 

the  landscape  ride. 


"  In  the  one  is  war  and  tumult,  blazing  home  and 
ruined  land. 

Scowling  mount  and  bleeding  river,  tell  the  con- 
queror's iron  hand. 

[132] 


"  In  the  other — peace  and  gladness,  happy  hamlets, 

waving  grain, 
Lofty  mountains,  laughing  rivers  flowing  through 

a  fruitful  plain. 


"  Youth,  come  hither,  take  the  jewels,  take  the 

ivory,  hides  and  gold. 
Take  the  yet   more   priceless   treasure,   take  our 

blessings  manifold. 


"  And  to-morrow  with  the  rising  of  the  glorious 

morning  sun. 
You    will    find    the    royal    commission    that    you 

royally  have  won: 


"  Over-lord  of  all  the  hamlets  in  the  valley  of  the 

Ming, 
Bearer  of  the  Golden  Sceptre,  Second  Councillor  to 

the  King." 


[ISS] 


THE  CALLING  OF  THE  WINDS 

The  Winds  of  the  World  are  calling — 

There's  a  longing  in  your  breast 
For  the  mighty  sweep  of  the  rolling  deep, 

Or  the  breath  of  the  mountain-crest: 
And  ye  long  for  another  region — 

And  ye  long  for  another  clime — 
For  the  friend  or  foe  ye  used  to  know, 

And  the  days  of  another  time. 

The  Winds  of  the  World  are  calling — 

And  will  ye  answer  nay? 
Ye  know  the  World  where  the  palms  unfurled- 

Where  the  seal  and  the  walrus  play — 
Where  the  rivers  through  the  jungle 

Are  washing  their  virgin  banks, 
Where  fir  and  pine  'neath  the  Arctic  line 

Stand  straight  in  their  serried  ranks. 

The  Winds  of  the  World  are  calling — 

And  will  ye  go  and  do 
The  things  afar  of  peace  or  war 

That  beckoning  call  to  you — 

[184] 


O'er  the  trail  of  the  tropic  mountain, 
O'er  pampas,  sea  and  plain. 

O'er  Arctic  floe,  in  the  driving  snow, 
Or  the  red  Equator's  rain  ? 

The  Winds  of  the  World  are  calling — 

And  will  ye  answer  no? 
Or  run  amuck  and  cast  your  luck 

Where  the  counter- tradewinds  blow? 
Where  the  stilted  laws  of  city, 

(Each  day  fore-settled — planned — ) 
Are  broke  in  twain  on  sea  and  plain 

In  the  tracts  of  No  Man's  Land. 


[185] 


THE  LAND  OF  NEVER-NEVER 

There's  a  Land  of  Never-never, 
Just  beyond  the  rainbow's  bend — 

Beck'ning  far  behind  the  offing 
W^here  the  mirage  heavens  end. 

Laughing  o'er  the  misty  foot-hills — 
Chanting  down  the  hollow  vale — 

Singing  'cross  the  broken  channel 
When  the  lights  to  leeward  fail. 

There's  a  Land  of  Never-never, 
Just  beyond  the  dripping  bow; 

Lifting  through  the  scarlet  sky-line — 
Surely  you  can  see  it  now. 

Bursting — dazzling — glowing  golden — 
All  the  hopes  of  other  years. 

Risen  o'er  the  smoldering  ruins — 
Risen  through  the  burning  tears. 
[136] 


There's  a  Land  of  Never-never — 
Glory — Power — Pride   or  Fame — 

Cherished  goal  we  thought  to  gather, 
Be  whate'er  the   chosen  name. 

Bright  beyond  the  farthest  moon-beam 
Where  the  stars  fade  out  and  die, 

We  can  see  it  scintillating — 

White  and  gleaming — fair  and  high. 

There's  a  Land  of  Never-never — 
We  are  drawing  very  near; 

And  the  joy  of  all  the  ages 

Comes  to  greet  us  toiling  here. 

(Just  another  drive  to  windward 
With  the  lee-rail  running  low — 

Just  another  cape  to  weather — 
We  can  surely  stand  the  blow). 


But  the  Land  of  Never-never 
Laughs   across  the  silent  sea. 

And  the  skies  rise  blank  and  empty — 
Where  the  mirage  used  to  be. 

[137] 


THE  BROTHERHOOD 

Beyond  the  outer  markings 
We  catch  the  distant  call — 

We  hear  it  through  the  golden  east, 
And  where  the  shadows  fall: 

It  flickers  o'er  the  Arctic  lights — 
It  laughs  across  the  sea — 

It's  wispering  as  plain  as  words 
To  me. 

By  broken  hopes  that  never  heal — 
By   souls  that  struggle  through — 

By  countless  things  they  left  undone — 
By  things  they  would  not  do — 

By  mighty  minds  of  mighty  men — 
By  faith  of  simple  creeds — 

By  ties  bound  not  with  empty  words — 
But  deeds. 

No  sign  or  symbol  showeth — 
No  word  or  mystic  mark — 

No  jealousy  or  silence — 
No  hint  or  dire  dark — 

[138] 


But  flung  across  the  wide,  wide  world, 

O'er  mountain,  sea  and  plain. 
It  binding  wafts  and  then  returns 
Again. 

And  Brother  knoweth  Brother 
By  the  look  within  his  eye; 

And  he  does  not  try  to  reason — 
And  he  does  not  wonder  why : 

And  he  does  not  clasp  him  to  his  breast- 
Or  weep  when  they  depart, 

But,  he's  found  the  only  talisman — 
A  heart. 

Above  the  ice-choked  channels 
The  upright  penguins  stare: 

They've  watched  the  out-bound  Order — 
They  are  often  sighted  there: 

The  phosphor-dancing  fires  greet 
The  Cross-crowned  tropic  sky, 

And  the  palms  are  waving  gently 
Where  they  ply. 

By  your  elbow  on  the  crowded  street — 
By  mine  and  mart  and  mire — 

By  bugle  blast  and  blinding  charge — 
By  wreck  and  roaring  fire — 

[139] 


Look  ye  not  for  sign  or  symbol — 
Question  none  nor  wonder  where— 
For  the  tahsman  lies  hidden — 
Under  there. 


[140] 


THE  LAY  OF  CRECY 

The  ranks  of  France  are  marshaled  deep, 

Twice  sixty  thousand  strong; 
The  Genoese  cross-bows  are  there — 
The  men-at-arms,  the  squires  fair — 
And  knights,  the  haughty  jewels  and  rare, 

That  spurn  the  baser  throng. 

And  Philip,  king  of  France,  commands. 

The  blind  Bohemian  king — 
Majorca's  sovereign,  stem  and  proud — 
The  Romans'  lord  in  purple  shroud — 
Impatient  till  the  trumpets  loud 

Their  clarion  voices  fling. 

But  look  ye  to'ard  the  English  camp. 

Right  ready  'gainst  the  fray — 
The  line  of  trusty  bows  and  long — 
The  archers,  hardened,  quick  and  strong — 
Though  scarce  to  Edward  now  belong 
A  third  the  French  array. 

[141] 


Oh  seldom  has  the  glorious  sun 

Beheld  so  fair  a  sight, 
As  o'er  the  great  and  glittering  field, 
The  shining  lance  and  helm  and  shield 
Proclaim  what  mighty  lords  shall  wield 

Their  arms  in  noble  fight. 

The  waving  plume — the  golden  rowel — 

The  clang  of  steel  and  steel — 
The  lifted  head  and  haughty  glance 
Of  English  earl  and  lord  of  France, 
As  forward  now  the  lines  advance 
Beneath  the  trumpets'   peal. 

The  Genoese  cross-bowmen  come. 

And   strain   and   pull  and   bend; 
And  pull  and  strain  and  bend  again. 
But  strings  awetted  by  the  rain 
Are  better  were  they  broke  in  twain. 
For  harmless  shafts  they  send. 

Not  thus  the  English  archers  stout. 

Not  thus  their  goodly  bows; 
But  from  their  cases,  dry  and  light. 
They  quickly  spring,  and  shafts  as  flight 
Of  hurtling  hail  on  winter's  night. 

Hew  down  the  frightened  foes. 

[142] 


Grimaldi,  Doria,  all  in  vain 

Ye  shout — entreat — command. 
The  bravest  knights  of  Christendom — 
The  stoutest  Norse  that  sailed  the  foam — 
The  legions  of  imperial  Rome — 
Could  naught  the  storm  withstand. 

And  routed  are  the  Genoese: 

While  forward  comes  the  pride 
Of   England's   noble   chivalry — 
The  youth  the  maidens  love  to  see — 
The  youth  the  striplings  strive  to  be — 
The  young  Black  Prince  doth  ride. 

And  'gainst  the  brother  of  the  king — 

The  Count  of  Alen9on; 
And  forward  'gainst  the  heavy  ranks, 
Where'er  anon  athwart  the  flanks 
Of  thoroughbreds  the  armor  clanks, 

The  sable  prince  comes  on. 

Like  waves  upon  a  rocky  shore. 

The  horse  of  England  dash. 
Now  hear  the  clang  of  mace  and  spear — 
The  sword  and  lance's  shrieking  hear — 
While  standards  reel  and  chargers  rear, 

As  deadly  foemen  clash. 

[143] 


Like  breakers  'gainst  the  rugged  rocks, 

The  struggle  rages  wild. 
And  now  forsooth  on  either  hand 
Doth  fall  the  fairest  of  the  land, 
Of  lineage  great  and  titles   grand. 

In  helpless  hillocks  piled. 

Far  back  and  forth  with  mighty  roar 

The  crimson  surges  roll. 
And  truly  'tis  a  goodly  sight 
To  see  in  midst  of  gory  fight. 
The  stripling  prince  to  left  and  right 

Lay  on  with  lusty  soul. 

Fair  cause  has  Edward  proud  to  be 

Of  such  a  warrior  lad. 
The  plated  squadrons  closely  pressed 
Before  the  charging  Prince's  crest. 
Bewildered — ^break.     And,  'mong  the  blest, 

Now  may  their  souls  be  glad. 

Ho  Philip  thou  of  Valois  now 
Grasp  firm  the  sword  and  lance! 

For  ere  the  setting  of  the  sun — 

For  ere  another  day  is  done — 

The  fight  is  lost — ^the  fight  is  won — 
Lay  on,  lay  on  for  France! 

[144] 


Hold  high  the  royal  banner 

Above  the  battle  roar; 
That  Frenchmen,  gladdened  by  the   sight. 
May  follow  where  the  lilies  white 
Shall — waving  o'er  the  failing  fight — 

Yet  turn  the  tide  of  war. 

And  now  the  king's  division  and 

The  English  army  meet: 
But  John  of  Hainault  rideth  far 
His  monarch  from  the  scene  of  war: 
And  none  may  France's  flight  debar — 

And  naught  avert  defeat. 

Her  knights  and  squires  strewn  lay 

Abroad  the  battle-field. 
For  over  all  the  stricken  plain, 
Writhe  rent  and  gashed  the  mail-clad  slain ; 
And  rising  half — the  wounded  strain 

The  splintered  lance  to  wield. 

Beneath  the  early  evening  sky — 

In  death's  last  fierce  embrace, 
French,  English,  Welsh  and  Genoese — 
Cross-bowmen,  yeomen,  lords,  grandees — 
From  alien  lands  and  over  seas — 

Lie  fallen  face  to  face. 

10  [145] 


The  Ostrich  Feathers  Three  are  low 

In  brave  Bohemian  blood. 
No  more  Majorca's  king  shall  raise 
His  haughty  brow,  and  proudly  gaze 
To  where,  upon  his  castle  blaze 
His  arms  in  sunlight's  flood. 

The  Dukes  Lorraine  and  Bourbon  too 

No  more  shall  raise  a  hand 
To  strike  for  native  soil  and  king. 
No  more  their  waving  crests  shall  fling, 
As  free  and  light  as  swallow's  wing, 
O'er  France's  verdant  land. 

The  setting  sun  in  splendor  sinks 

Beyond  the  western  wave. 
And  as  the  last  lights  lingering  fall 
On  duke  and  earl  and  yeoman,  all 
Low  laid  by  king  and  country's  call. 
In  gold  the  scene  they  bathe. 


[146] 


THE  FAILERS 

Look  Lord  upon  thy  Failers, 

On  river  and  land  and  sea; 
Who've  toiled   and   fought   for   the   things   they 
sought, 

But  losers  utterly. 
Their  prestige  o'er  the  Nation, 

Rings  not  through  the  Hall  of  Fame, 
For  to  the  grave — crushed,  weary,  brave — 

They  go  with  knownless  name. 

They've  split  the  rock,  they've  furled  the  sail. 

They've   grasped  the   pen   and   gun. 
They've  beaten  the  paths  of  the  boundless  earth, 

'Neath  snow  and  the  tropic  sun : 
They've  striven — (Lord  they've  striven — ) 

'Gainst  the  luck  and  the  odds  that  are ; 
Through  day  and  night  a  ceaseless  fight. 

And  lost  their  guiding  star. 

Look  Lord  on  the  mighty  Failers, 
With  thought  and  purpose  high ; 

[147] 


Look  Lord  on  the  feebler  Failers, 

And  do  not  pass  them  by. 
They've  fought  a  long  and  glorious  fight — 

They've  missed  their  golden  goal — 
Their  hearts  are  crushed  in  the  great  world's  rush, 

Touch  Thou  the  Failer's  soul. 

Oh  Lord  of  the  ancient  ages, 

Oh  Lord  of  the  oldest  past, 
Oh  Lord  of  the  splendid  present. 

And  the  future  to  the  last. 
Look  down  on  the  fruitless  strivers — 

The  Failers  of  East  and  West — 
And  grant  them  a  double  blessing  Lord, 

Ye  grant  to  all  the  rest. 


[148] 


THE  CITY  MOON 


Through  the  hurrying,  lighted  city, 
Through  the  grinding  rush  and  roar. 

High  o'er  brick  and  stone  and  coping 
We  are  seeing  you  once  more. 


Paler,  fainter — cold,  uncanny — 
Where  the  wires  swing  on  high, 

And  the  twenty  stories  tower 

Blocked  and  black  against  the  sky. 

Surely — no,  we're  only  dreaming, 
You  are  not  the  moon  we  knew 

When  we  watched  the  wild  waves  rushing 
'Gainst  the  gorge  and  driving  through 


Till  the  foam  as  molten  silver — 
Till  the  spray  as  dancing  fire — 

Sped  the  dormant  blood  within  us 
To  the  Land  of  Our  Desire. 

[149] 


You  are  not  the  moon  that  watched  us 
Where  the  lone  lean  shadows  lie 

O'er  the  jewel-bestudded  snow-field, 
'Neath  the  blue-black  winter  sky. 


You  are  not  the  moon  that  broadened 
Silver  paths  across  the  sea, 

Till   the   scintillating   ocean 
Danced  in  joyous  ecstasy: 


Till  the  rock-bound  bight  before  us. 
Like  a  dream-enchanted  bay. 

Broke  in  brimming,  golden  goblets. 

Romped  and  roared  and  rolled  away. 


You  are  not  the  moon  that  lingered 
Where  the  lake-side  birches  rise 

Tier  on  tier  in  gleaming  whiteness 
O'er  the  star-reflected  skies: 


Nor  the  harvest  moon  that  mellowed 
Sea  and  clifF  and  hill  and  plain, 

Soothing  care  and  disappointment — 
Bringing   cherished   days   again. 

[150] 


We  renounce  you — ^wan  and  withered — 
'Bove  the  walls  of  brick  and  stone: 

They  may  have  you — they  may  keep  you- 
You  are  not  the  moon  we've  known. 


[151] 


THE  DOUBTER 

Long  he  pondered  through  the  gloaming — ^long  he 
wondered  through  the  night — 

Long  the  heavens  shone  and  shimmered — purple, 
gray,  refulgent,  dim: 

Till  the  roaring  chorus  rumbled,  till  the  little  harp- 
strings  trebled. 

Age  on  age  in  endless  answer — spirit-voice  or 
cherubim — 

"  Gaze,  Oh  Doubter,  o'er  cathedral,  church  and 

temple,  mosque  and  shrine. 
While  the  solemn  millions  mutter,  '  Lo,  the  only 

faith  is  mine.' 
Creed  on  creed  and  seer  and  prophet — festival  and 

fast  and  feast — 
Would  ye  learn  the  truth.  Oh  Doubter,  from  the 

mighty  and  the  least? 

"  Look  then  to  the  ancient  Eastward  where  the 

bulky  Buddhas  squat. 
Fervently  the  flaccid  faces  praise  the  gods  who 

know  them  not 

[152] 


Out  beyond  the  red-railed  temple  when  the  punk- 
smoke  curls  away, 

Out  beyond  the  last  least  star-beam  lies  the  God 
to  Whom  they  pray. 

"  Look,  Oh  Doubter,  to  the  Westward  with  the  sun- 
baked plains  aglare. 

Once  Apache  and  Comanche  held  their  savage 
service  there. 

Form  and  figure — fetish,  fire — bleeding  gash  and 
sacred  sign. 

But  a  Manitou  stood  guarding — as  he  guardeth 
thee  and  thine. 

"  Hear,  Oh  Doubter,  cries  of  battle — watch  the 

crimson   banners   toss — 
*  La  illaha — il  Allah '  shrieks  the  Crescent  to  the 

Cross : 
High  above  the  crashing  squadrons  rings  the  loud 

exultant  yell 

(Cross   or  Crescent — ^leam  ye  nothing  from  the 

hated 'Infidel'  ?) 

"  Look,  Oh  Doubter,  where  the  Forum  marks  the 

heart  of  mighty  Rome; 
Ponder  you  when  you  discover  different  gods  in 

every  home.^^ 

[158] 


City — province — outer  boundary — where  the  close- 
locked  legions  rove — 

There  you  find  him  crowned  supernal — Jupiter — 
the  great  god  Jove. 

"  See,  Oh  Doubter,  proud  Olympus  'bove  the  pale 
JEgean  blue 

Watching  where  the  war-scarred  triremes  from  the 
Hellespont  drive  through. 

Count  her  many-headed  Council — ^human  hatred — 
love — abuse — 

But  the  haughty  Hellenes  tremble  low  before  Al- 
mighty Zeus. 

"  Go,  Oh  Doubter,  where  a  river  built  an  Empire 

eons  old. 
Scorn  the  village  triads — scorn  them — ^little  gods 

of  brass  and  gold. 
Scan  papyri  that  was  destined  only  Higher  Castes 

might  see. 
And  behold — alone — stands  Ammon — as  he  stands 

for  thine  and  thee. 

"  Dig,  Oh  Doubter,  deep  and  deeper  where  the 

sand-choked  cities  lie. 
Till  the  Tigris  and  Euphrates  fling  their  story  to 

the  sky : 

[154] 


Till  the  quaint-carved  figures  answer  (honor  not 

the  Lesser  Things) — 
'  Whom  ye  seek  is  Him  we  worshipped — ^Lord  of 

Lords  and  King  of  Kings.' " 

Died  the  rolling  chorus  softly — sank  the  spirit- 
voice  away — 

Vanished  night  and  spreading  golden  blazed  the 
dawning  light  of  day : 

And  the  Doubter  stood  Believer — saw  Him — and  in 
seeing  knew — 

God  and  Allah — ^Zeus  and  Ammon — Jove — Jeho- 
vah— Manitou . 


[155] 


THE  SONG  OF  THE  BLIND 

Across  the  twilight  stillness 

Creeps  forth  a  silent  song, 
(That  naught  but  the  ear  of  the  angels  hear) 

"  How  long — Oh  Lord — how  long?  " 


From  out  our  belted  darkness 

We  feel  the  evening  breeze, 
We  list  to  the  low  boughs  bending 

And  the  click  of  the  wind-turned  leaves. 
We  know  the  feathered  flutter 

When  the  homing  thrushes  wing, 
We  catch  the  hail  of  the  rising  quail — 

We  hear  the  robins  sing. 

A  waft  from  the  fields  of  clover — 
A  whiff*  of  the  new-wet  pine — 

The  sweet-lipped  honeysuckle. 

And  the  breath  of  the  wind-swept  brine 

We  scent — and  we  are  grateful — 
But  oh  for  the  days  that  were, 

[156] 


When  we  saw  the  pine  and  the 
white-flecked  brine, 
The  clover  and  beech  and  fir. 

We  feel  the  night  air  stirring — 

We  know  the  hour  well : 
And  the  western  sky  is  blazing — 

(We  hear  our  neighbors  tell) : 
Oh  yes,  we^ve  seen  it  spreading 

All  crimson,  gold  and  green, 
And  the  Star  of  Evening  shining 

Through  a  lilac-tinted  screen. 

We  hear  the  crickets  chirping, 

(The  day  is  mostly  done). 
Are  the  fire-flies  aflitting.? 

Are  the  candles  one  by  one 
Appearing  as  they  used  to  do 

Beyond  the  outer  mark? — 
Where  faint  and  gray  the  Milky  Way 

Illumes  the  dotted  dark. 


We  used  to  see  Orion 

In  nightly  combat  there: 

We  used  to  see  the  Scorpion — 
The  Archer  and  the  Bear : 

[157] 


We  used  to  see  the  shining  Cross — 

All  mystic,  pale  and  white — 
Reflect  the  glow  of  the  southern  snow 

Across  the  arching  night. 

We  used  to  see  the  silent  moon 

And  the  silver-flooded  bay — 
Where  waves  careen  in  the  molten  sheen 

And  slowly  dance  away — 
Till  the  Morning  Star  like  a  liquid  lamp 

Rose  high  and  clear  and  cold, 
And  the  first  faint  hue  of  the  dawn  we  knew 

Burst  forth  in  a  flood  of  gold. 

We're  trying  to  be  cheerful,  Lord, 

In  our  infirmity, 
But  oh  for  a  sight  of  the  white-ribbed  foam 

As  it  leaps  from  the  open  sea: 
And  oh  for  a  look  on  the  dark-green  pines 

Against  the  virgin  snow — 
Or  stand  by  the  drift  where  the  sea-gulls  lift 

And  watch  the  afterglow. 

The  heliotrope  and  mignonette 

We  scent  along  the  lane, 
But  the  rose's  blush  and  the  tulip's  tint 

We  may  not  know  again. 

[158] 


We  hear  the  swallow  overhead — 
We  hear  the  lone  loon's  call — 

But  we  can't  descry  the  sun-burst  sky 
With  the  rainbow  over  all. 


Across  the  twmkling  twilight 
Creeps  forth  the  silent  song — 

{That  only  the  ear  of  the  angels  hear) 
"  How  long — Oh  Lord — how  long?  " 

And  back  through  the  starry  stillness. 
Where  the  last  least  embers  glow. 

From  ring  to  rmg  the  far  spheres  fli/ng 
The  word  of  a  God  they  know. 


[159] 


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